! 


IN   DOMREMY 


1 03 


JOAN  S    VISION 


/ 


TRANSLATOR'S   PREFACE 


To  arrive  at  a  just  estimate  of  a  renowned  mans  char 
acter  one  must  judge  it  by  the  standards  of  his  time,  not 
ours.  Judged  by  the  standards  of  one  century,  the  noblest 
characters  of  an  earlier  one  lose  mucJi  of  their  lustre  ; 
judged  by  the  standards  of  to-day,  there  is  probably  no 
illustrious  man  of  four  or  five  centuries  ago  whose  char 
acter  could  meet  the  test  at  all  points.  But  the  character 
of  Joan  of  Arc  is  unique.  It  can  be  measured  by  the 
standards  of  all  times  without  misgiving  or  apprehension 
as  to  the  result.  Judged  by  any  of  them,  judged  by  all  of 
them,  it  is  still  flawless,  it  is  still  ideally  perfect ;  it  still 
occupies  the  loftiest  place  possible  to  human  attainment,  a 
loftier  one  than  has  been  reached  by  any  other  mere  mortal. 

When  we  reflect  that  her  century  was  the  brutalest,  the 
wickedest,  the  rottenest  in  history  since  the  darkest  ages, 
we  are  lost  in  wonder  at  the  miracle  of  suck  a  product 
from  such  a  soil.  The  contrast  between  her  and  her  cen 
tury  is  the  contrast  between  day  and  night.  She  was 
truthful  when  lying  was  the  common  speech  of  men ;  she 
was  honest  when  honesty  was  become  a  lost  virtue ;  she 
was  a  keeper  of  promises  when  the  keeping  of  a  promise 
was  expected  of  no  one ;  she  gave  her  great  mind  to  great 
thoughts  and  great  purposes  when  other  great  minds  wasted 
themselves  upon  pretty  fancies  or  upon  poor  ambitions  ; 
she  was  modest  and  fine  and  delicate  when  to  be  loud  and 
coarse  might  be  said  to  be  universal ;  she  was  full  of  pity 


Vlll 


when  a  merciless  cruelty  was  the  rule ;  she  was  steadfast 
when  stability  was  unknown,  and  honorable  in  an  age 
which  had  forgotten  what  honor  was  ;  she  was  a  rock  of 
convictions  in  a  time  when  men  believed  in  nothing  and 
scoffed  at  all  things ;  she  was  unfailingly  true  in  an  age 
that  was  false  to  the  core ;  she  maintained  her  personal 
dignity  unimpaired  in  an  age  of  f awnings  and  servilities; 
she  was  of  a  dauntless  courage  when  hope  and  courage  had 
perislied  in  the  hearts  of  her  nation ;  she  was  spotlessly 
pure  in  mind  and  body  wlien  society  in  the  highest  places 
was  foul  in  both — she  was  all  these  things  in  an  age  when' 
crime  was  the  common  business  of  lords  and  princes,  and 
when  the  highest  personages  in  Christendom  zvere  able  to 
astonish  even  that  infamous  era  and  make  it  stand  aghast 
at  the  spectacle  of  their  atrocious  lives  black  with  unim 
aginable  treacheries,  butcheries,  and  bestialities. 

She  was  perhaps  the  only  entirely  tinsel  fish  person  whose 
name  has  a  place  in  profane  history.  No  vestige  or  sug 
gestion  of  self-seeking  can  be  found  in  any  word  or  deed 
of  hers.  When  she  had  rescued  her  King  from  his  vaga 
bondage,  and  set  his  crown  upon  Ids  head,  she  was  offered 
rewards  and  honors,  but  she  refused  them  all,  and  would 
take  nothing.  A II  she  would  take  for  herself — if  the  King 
would  grant  it — was  leave  to  go  back  to  her  village  home, 
and  tend  her  sheep  again,  and  feel  her  mother 's  arms  about 
her,  and  be  her  housemaid  and  helper.  The  selfishness  of 
this  unspoiled  general  of  victorious  armies,  companion  of 
princes,  and  idol  of  an  applauding  and  grateful  nation, 
reached  but  that  far  and  no  farther. 

The  work  wrought  by  Joan  of  Arc  may  fairly  be  re 
garded  as  ranking  any  recorded  in  history,  when  one  con 
siders  the  conditions  under  which  it  was  undertaken, 
the  obstacles  in  the  way,  and  the  means  at  her  disposal. 
Ccesar  carried  conquest  far,  but  he  did  it  with  the  trained 
and  confident  veterans  of  Rome,  and  was  a  trained  soldier 


IX 


himself ;  and  Napoleon  swept  away  the  disciplined  armies 
of  Eiirope,  but  he  also  was  a  trained  soldier,  and  he  began 
his  zvork  with  patriot  battalions  inflamed  and  inspired  by 
the  miracle-working  new  breath  of  Liberty  breathed  upon 
them  by  the  Revolution  —  eager  young  apprentices  to  the 
splendid  trade  of  war,  not  old  and  broken  men-at-arms, 
despairing  survivors  of  an  age-long  accumulation  of  mo 
notonous  defeats  ;  but  Joan  of  Arc,  a  mere  child  in  years, 
ignorant,  unlettered,  a  poor  village  girl  unknown  and 
without  influence,  found  a  great  nation  lying  in  chains, 
helpless  and  hopeless  under  an  alien  domination,  its  treas 
ury  bankrupt,  its  soldiers  disheartened  and  dispersed,  all 
spirit  torpid,  all  courage  dead  in  the  hearts  of  the  people 
tJ trough  long  years  of  foreign  and  domestic  outrage  and 
oppression,  their  King  cowed,  resigned  to  its  fate,  and 
preparing  to  fly  the  country  }  and  site  laid  Jier  hand  upon 
this  nation,  this  corpse,  and  it  rose  and  followed  her.  She 
led  it  from  victory  to  victory,  she  turned  back  the  tide  of 
the  Hundred  Years'  War,  she  fatally  crippled  the  English 
power,  and  died  with  the  earned  title  of  DELIVERER  OF 
FRANCE,  which  she  bears  to  this  day. 

A  nd  for  all  reward,  the  French  King  whom  she  had 
crowned  stood  supine  and  indifferent  while  French  priests 
took  the  noble  child,  the  most  innocent,  the  most  lovely,  the 
most  adorable  the  ages  have  produced^  and  burned  her  alive 
at  the  stake. 


A   PECULIARITY  OF   JOAN   OF  ARC'S    HISTORY 


The  details  of  the  life  of  Joan  of  Arc  form  a  biography 
which  is  unique  among  the  world's  biographies  in  one 
respect :  //  is  the  only  story  of  a  human  life  ivliich  comes 
to  us  under  oath,  the  only  one  which  comes  to  us  from 
the  witness-stand.  The  official  records  of  the  Great 
Trial  of  1431,  and  of  the  Process  of  Rehabilitation  of  a 
quarter  of  a  century  later,  are  still  preserved  in  the  Na 
tional  Archives  of  France,  and  they  furnish  with  re 
markable  fulness  the  facts  of  her  life.  The  history  of 
no  other  life  of  that  remote  time  is  known  with  either 
the  certainty  or  the  comprehensiveness  that  attaches  to 
hers. 

The  Sieur  Louis  de  Conte  is  faithful  to  her  official 
history  in  his  Personal  Recollections,  and  thus  far  his 
trustworthiness  is  unimpeachable  ;  but  his  mass  of  added 
particulars  must  depend  for  credit  upon  his  own  word 
alone. 

THE  TRANSLATOR. 


Book  I 
In  Domremy 

Page  3 

¥ 

Book  II 
In  Court  and  Camp 

Page  67 

¥ 

Book  III 
Trial  and  Martyrdom 

Page  3J7 


PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  JOAN  OF  ARC 


THE   SIEUR   LOUIS   DE   CONTE 
TO    HIS   GREAT-GREAT-GRAND   NEPHEWS   AND   NIECES 

THIS  is  the  year  1492.  I  am  eighty-two  years  of  age.  The 
things  I  am  going  to  tell  you  are  things  which  I  saw  myself 
as  a  child  and  as  a  youth. 

In  all  the  tales  and  songs  and  histories  of  Joan  of  Arc 
which  you  and  the  rest  of  the  world  read  and  sing  and  study 
in  the  books  wrought  in  the  late  invented  art  of  printing, 
mention  is  made  of  me,  the  Sieur  Louis  de  Conte — I  was  her 
page  and  secretary.  I  was  with  her  from  the  beginning 
until  the  end. 

I  was  reared  in  the  same  village  with  her.  I  played  with 
her  every  day,  when  we  were  little  children  together,  just  as 
you  play  with  your  mates.  Now  that  we  perceive  how  great 
she  was ;  now  that  her  name  fills  the  whole  world,  it  seems 
strange  that  what  I  am  saying  is  true ;  for  it  is  as  if  a  perish 
able  paltry  candle  should  speak  of  the  eternal  sun  riding  in 
the  heavens  and  say,  "  He  was  gossip  and  housemate  to  me 
when  we  were  candles  together."  And  yet  it  is  true,  just  as 
I  say.  I  was  her  playmate,  and  I  fought  at  her  side  in  the 
wars;  to  this  day  I  carry  in  my  mind>  fine  and  clear,  the 
picture  of  that  dear  little  figure,  with  breast  bent  to  the 
flying  horse's  neck,  charging  at  the  head  of  the  armies  of 
France,  her  hair  streaming  back,  her  silver  mail  ploughing 
steadily  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  thick  of  the  battle,  some 
times  nearly  drowned  from  sight  by  tossing  heads  of  horses, 
uplifted  sword-arms,  wind-blown  plumes,  and  intercepting 
shields.  I  was  with  her  to  the  end  ;  and  when  that  black 
day  came  whose  accusing  shadow  will  lie  always  upon  the 


memory  of  the  mitred  French  slaves  of  England  who  were 
her  assassins,  and  upon  France  who  stood  idle  and  essayed 
no  rescue,  my  hand  was  the  last  she  touched  in  life. 

As  the  years  and  the  decades  drifted  by,  and  the  spectacle 
of  the  marvellous  child's  meteor-flight  across  the  war-firma 
ment  of  France  and  its  extinction  in  the  smoke-clouds  of  the 
stake  receded  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  past  and  grew  ever 
more  strange  and  wonderful  and  divine  and  pathetic,  I  came 
to  comprehend  and  recognize  her  at  last  for  what  she  was — 
the  most  noble  life  that  was  ever  born  into  this  world  save 
only  One. 


CHAPTER   I 

I,  the  Sieur  Louis  de  Conte,  was  born  in  Neufchateau,  the 
6th  of  January,  1410;  that  is  to  say,  exactly  two  years  before 
Joan  of  Arc  was  born  in  Domremy.  My  family  had  fled  to 
those  distant  regions  from  the  neighborhood  of  Paris  in  the 
first  years  of  the  century.  In  politics  they  were  Armagnacs — 
patriots :  they  were  for  our  own  French  King,  crazy  and  im 
potent  as  he  was.  The  Burgundian  party,  who  were  for 
the  English,  had  stripped  them,  and  done  it  well.  They 
took  everything  but  my  father's  small  nobility,  and  when  he 
reached  Neufchateau  he  reached  it  in  poverty  and  with  a 
broken  spirit.  But  the  political  atmosphere  there  was  the 
sort  he  liked,  and  that  was  something.  He  came  to  a  region 
of  comparative  quiet ;  he  left  behind  him  a  region  peopled 
with  furies,  madmen,  devils,  where  slaughter  was  a  daily  pas 
time  and  no  man's  life  safe  for  a  moment.  In  Paris,  mobs 
roared  through  the  streets  nightly,  sacking,  burning,  killing, 
unmolested,  uninterrupted.  The  sun  rose  upon  wrecked  and 
smoking  buildings,  and  upon  mutilated  corpses  lying  here, 
there,  and  yonder  about  the  streets,  just  as  they  fell,  and 
stripped  naked  by  thieves,  the  unholy  gleaners  after  the  mob. 
None  had  the  courage  to  gather  these  dead  for  burial ;  they 
were  left  there  to  rot  and  create  plagues. 

And  plagues  they  did  create.  Epidemics  swept  away  the 
people  like  flies,  and  the  burials  were  conducted  secretly  and 
by  night ;  for  public  funerals  were  not  allowed,  lest  the  reve 
lation  of  the  magnitude  of  the  plague's  work  unman  the 
people  and  plunge  them  into  despair.  Then  came,  finally, 
the  bitterest  winter  which  had  visited  France  in  five  hundred 
years.  Famine,  pestilence,  slaughter,  ice,  snow — Paris  had 


%  fill,  the.se  ajt  Qnce^  The  dead  lay  in  heaps  about  the  streets, 
^  pfa&riptiffiQib&vftfa  city  in  daylight  and  devoured  them. 

Ah,  France  had  fallen  low — so  low !  For  more  than  three 
quarters  of  a  century  the  English  fangs  had  been  bedded  in 
her  flesh,  and  so  cowed  had  her  armies  become  by  ceaseless 
rout  and  defeat  that  it  was  said  and  accepted  that  the  mere 
sight  of  an  English  army  was  sufficient  to  put  a  French  one  to 
flight. 

When  I  was  five  years  old  the  prodigious  disaster  of 
Agincourt  fell  upon  France ;  and  although  the  English  king 
went  home  to  enjoy  his  glory,  he  left  the  country  prostrate 
and  a  prey  to  roving  bands  of  Free  Companions  in  the 
service  of  the  Burgundian  party,  and  one  of  these  bands 
came  raiding  through  Neufchateau  one  night,  and  by  the 
light  of  our  burning  roof-thatch  I  saw  all  that  were  dear  to 
me  in  this  world  (save  an  elder  brother,  your  ancestor,  left 
behind  with  the  Court)  butchered  while  they  begged  for 
mercy,  and  heard  the  butchers  laugh  at  their  prayers  and 
mimic  their  pleadings.  I  was  overlooked,  and  escaped  with 
out  hurt.  When  the  savages  were  gone  I  crept  out  and  cried 
the  night  away  watching  the  burning  houses ;  and  I  was  all 
alone,  except  for  the  company  of  the  dead  and  the  wounded, 
for  the  rest  had  taken  flight  and  hidden  themselves. 

I  was  sent  to  Domremy,  to  the  priest,  whose  house-keeper 
became  a  loving  mother  to  me.  The  priest  in  the  course  of 
'  time  taught  me  to  read  and  write,  and  he  and  I  were  the 
only  persons  in  the  village  who  possessed  this  learning. 

At  the  time  that  the  house  of  this  good  priest,  Guillaume 
Fronte,  became  my  home,  I  was  six  years  old.  We  lived 
close  by  the  village  church,  and  the  small  garden  of  Joan's 
parents  was  behind  the  church.  As  to  that  family,  there  were 
Jacques  d'Arc  the  father,  his  wife  Isabel  Romee ;  three  sons 
— Jacques,  ten  years  old,  Pierre,  eight,  and  Jean,  seven  • 
Joan,  four,  and  her  baby  sister  Catherine,  about  a  year  old. 
I  had  these  children  for  playmates  from  the  beginning.  I 
had  some  other  playmates  besides — particularly  four  boys  : 
Pierre  Morel,  Etienne  Roze,  Noel  Rainguesson,  and  Edmond 


Aubrey,  whose  father  was  maire  at  that  time ;  also  two  girls, 
about  Joan's  age,  who  by-and-by  became  her -favorites  ;  one 
was  named  Haumette,  the  other  was  called  Little  Mengette. 
These  girls  were  common  peasant  children,  like  Joan  herself. 
When  they  grew  up,  both  married  common  laborers.  Their 
estate  was  lowly  enough,  you  see  5  yet  a  time  came,  many 
years  after,  when  no  passing  stranger,  howsoever  great  he 
might  be,  failed  to  go  and  pay  his  reverence  to  those  two 
humble  old  women  who  had  been  honored  in  their  youth  by 
the  friendship  of  Joan  of  Arc. 

These  were  all  good  children,  just  of  the  ordinary  peasant 
type;  not  bright,  of  course — you  would  not  expect  that — but 
good-hearted  and  companionable,  obedient  to  their  parents 
and  the  priest ;  and  as  they  grew  up  they  became  properly 
stocked  with  narrownesses  and  prejudices  got  at  second  hand 
from  their  elders,  and  adopted  without  reserve ;  and  without 
examination  also — which  goes  without  saying.  Their  religion 
was  inherited,  their  politics  the  same.  John  Huss  and  his  sort 
might  find  fault  with  the  Church,  in  Domremy  it  disturbed 
nobody's  faith ;  and  when  the  split  came,  when  I  was  four 
teen,  and  we  had  three  Popes  at  once,  nobody  in  Domremy 
was  worried  about  how  to  choose  among  them — the  Pope  of 
Rome  was  the  right  one,  a  Pope  outside  of  Rome  was  no 
Pope  at  all.  Every  human  creature  in  the  village  was  an 
Armagnac — a  patriot — and  if  we  children  hotly  hated  nothing 
else  in  the  world,  we  did  certainly  hate  the  English  and 
Burgundian  name  and  polity  in  that  way. 


CHAPTER   II 

OUR  Domremy  was  like  any  other  humble  little  hamlet  of 
that  remote  time  and  region.  It  was  a  maze  of  crooked, 
narrow  lanes  and  alleys  shaded  and  sheltered  by  the  over 
hanging  thatch  roofs  of  the  barn-like  houses.  The  houses 
were  dimly  lighted  by  wooden-shuttered  windows — that  is, 
holes  in  the  walls  which  served  for  windows.  The  floors 
were  of  dirt,  and  there  was  very  little  furniture.  Sheep  and 
cattle  grazing  was  the  main  industry;  all  the  young  folks 
tended  flocks. 

The  situation  was  beautiful.  From  one  edge  of  the  village 
a  flowery  plain  extended  in  a  wide  sweep  to  the  river — the 
Meuse ;  from  the  rear  edge  of  the  village  a  grassy  slope  rose 
gradually,  and  at  the  top  was  the  great  oak  forest— a  forest 
that  was  deep  and  gloomy  and  dense,  and  full  of  interest  for 
us  children,  for  many  murders  had  been  done  in  it  by  out 
laws  in  old  times,  and  in  still  earlier  times  prodigious  dragons 
that  spouted  fire  and  poisonous  vapors  from  their  nostrils 
had  their  homes  in  there.  In  fact,  one  was  still  living  in 
there  in  our  own  time.  It  was  as  long  as  a  tree,  and  had  a 
body  as  big  around  as  a  tierce,  and  scales  like  overlapping 
great  tiles,  and  deep  ruby  eyes  as  large  as  a  cavalier's  hat, 
and  an  anchor-fluke  on  its  tail  as  big  as  I  don't  know  what, 
but  very  big,  even  unusually  so  for  a  dragon,  as  everybody 
said  who  knew  about  dragons.  It  was  thought  that  this 
dragon  was  of  a  brilliant  blue  color,  with  gold  mottlings,  but 
no  one  had  ever  seen  it,  therefore  this  was  not  known  to  be 
so,  it  was  only  an  opinion.  It  was  not  my  opinion  ;  I  think 
there  is  no  sense  in  forming  an  opinion  when  there  is  no 
evidence  to  form  it  on.  If  you  build  a  person  without  any 


bones  in  him  he  may  look  fair  enough  to  the  eye,  but  he  will 
be  limber  and  cannot  stand  up;  and  I  consider  that  evidence 
is  the  bones  of  an  opinion.  But  I  will  take  up  this  matter 
more  at  large  at  another  time,  and  try  to  make  the  justness 
of  my  position  appear.  As  to  that  dragon,  I  always  held  the 
belief  that  its  color  was  gold  and  without  blue,  for  that  has 
always  been  the  color  of  dragons.  That  this  dragon  lay  but 
a  little  way  within  the  wood  at  one  time  is  shown  by  the 
fact  that  Pierre  Morel  was  in  there  one  day  and  smelt  it,  and 
recognized  it  by  the  smell.  It  gives  one  a  horrid  idea  of 
how  near  to  us  the  deadliest  danger  can  be  and  we  not  sus 
pect  it. 

In  the  earliest  times  a  hundred  knights  from  many  remote 
places  in  the  earth  would  have  gone  in  there  one  after  another, 
to  kill  the  dragon  and  get  the  reward,  but  in  our  time  that 
method  had  gone  out,  and  the  priest  had  become  the  one  that 
abolished  dragons.  Pere  Guillaume  Fronte  did  it  in  this  case. 
He  had  a  procession,  with  candles  and  incense  and  banners, 
and  marched  around  the  edge  of  the  wood  and  exorcised  the 
dragon,  and  it  was  never  heard  of  again,  although  it  was  the 
opinion  of  many  that  the  smell  never  wholly  passed  away. 
Not  that  any  had  ever  smelt  the  smell  again,  for  none  had  ;  it 
was  only  an  opinion,  like  that  other — and  lacked  bones,  you 
see.  I  know  that  the  creature  was  there  before  the  exorcism, 
but  whether  it  was  there  afterwards  or  not  is  a  thing  which  I 
cannot  be  so  positive  about. 

In  a  noble  open  space  carpeted  with  grass  on  the  high 
ground  towards  Vaucouleurs  stood  a  most  majestic  beech-tree 
with  wide-reaching  arms  and  a  grand  spread  of  shade,  and  by 
it  a  limpid  spring  of  cold  water ;  and  on  summer  days  the 
children  went  there— oh,  every  summer  for  more  than  five 
hundred  years — went  there  and  sang  and  danced  around  the 
tree  for  hours  together,  refreshing  themselves  at  the  spring 
from  time  to  time,  and  it  was  most  lovely  and  enjoyable. 
Also  they  made  wreaths  of  flowers  and  hung  them  upon  the 
tree  and  about  the  spring  to  please  the  fairies  that  lived  there; 
for  they  liked  that,  being  idle  innocent  little  creatures,  as  all 


10 


fairies  are,  and  fond  of  anything  delicate  and  pretty  like  wild 
flowers  put  together  in  that  way.  And  in  return  for  this  at 
tention  the  fairies  did  any  friendly  thing  they  could  for  the 
children,  such  as  keeping  the  spring  always  full  and  clear  and 
cold,  and  driving  away  serpents  and  insects  that  sting ;  and 
so  there  was  never  any  unkindness  between  the  fairies  and 
the  children  during  more  than  five  hundred  years — tradition 
said  a  thousand — but  only  the  warmest  affection  and  the  most 
perfect  trust  and  confidence  ;  and  whenever  a  child  died  the 
fairies  mourned  just  as  that  child's  playmates  did,  and  the 
sign  of  it  was  there  to  see :  for  before  the  dawn  on  the  day 
of  the  funeral  they  hung  a  little  immortelle  over  the  place 
where  that  child  was  used  to  sit  under  the  tree.  I  know  this 
to  be  true  by  my  own  eyes  -,  it  is  not  hearsay.  And  the  rea 
son  it  was  known  that  the  fairies  did  it  was  this — that  it  was 
made  all  of  black  flowers  of  a  sort  not  known  in  France  any 
where. 

Now  from  time  immemorial  all  children  reared  in  Domremy 
were  called  the  Children  of  the  Tree ;  and  they  loved  that 
name,  for  it  carried  with  it  a  mystic  privilege  not  granted  to 
any  others  of  the  children  of  this  world.  Which  was  this : 
whenever  one  of  these  came  to  die,  then  beyond  the  vague 
and  formless  images  drifting  through  his  darkening  mind  rose 
soft  and  rich  and  fair  a  vision  of  the  Tree — if  all  was  well  with 
his  soul.  That  was  what  some  said.  Others  said  the  vision 
came  in  two  ways :  once  as  a  warning,  one  or  two  years  in 
advance  of  death,  when  the  soul  was  the  captive  of  sin,  and 
then  the  Tree  appeared  in  its  desolate  winter  aspect — then 
that  soul  was  smitten  with  an  awful  fear.  If  repentance  came, 
and  purity  of  life,  the  vision  came  again,  this  time  summer- 
clad  and  beautiful;  but  if  it  were  otherwise  with  that  soul 
the  vision  was  withheld,  and  it  passed  from  life  knowing  its 
doom.  Still  others  said  that  the  vision  came  but  once,  and 
then  only  to  the  sinless  dying  forlorn  in  distant  lands  and 
pitifully  longing  for  some  last  dear  reminder  of  their  home. 
And  what  reminder  of  it  could  go  to  their  hearts  like  the  pict 
ure  of  the  Tree  that  was  the  darling  of  their  love  and  the 


r 


THE   FAIRY   TREE 


II 


comrade  of  their  joys  and  comforter  of  their  small  griefs  all 
through  the  divine  days  of  their  vanished  youth  ? 

Now  the  several  traditions  were  as  I  have  said,  some  be 
lieving  one  and  some  another.  One  of  them  I  knew  to  be  the 
truth,  and  that  was  the  last  one.  I  do  not  say  anything 
against  the  others ;  I  think  they  were  true,  but  I  only  know 
that  the  last  one  was ;  and  it  is  my  thought  that  if  one  keep 
to  the  things  he  knows,  and  not  trouble  about  the  things  which 
he  cannot  be  sure  about,  he  will  have  the  steadier  mind  for  it 
— and  there  is  profit  in  that.  I  know  that  when  the  Children 
of  the  Tree  die  in  a  far  land,  then — if  they  be  at  peace  with 
God — they  turn  their  longing  eyes  toward  home,  and  there, 
far-shining,  as  through  a  rift  in  a  cloud  that  curtains  heaven, 
they  see  the  soft  picture  of  the  Fairy  Tree,  clothed  in  a  dream 
of  golden  light ;  and  they  see  the  bloomy  mead  sloping  away 
to  the  river,  and  to  their  perishing  nostrils  is  blown  faint  and 
sweet  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers  of  home.  And  then  the 
vision  fades  and  passes — but  they  know,  they  know !  and  by 
their  transfigured  faces  you  know  also,  you  who  stand  looking 
on  ;  yes,  you  know  the  message  that  has  come,  and  that  it  has 
come  from  heaven. 

Joan  and  I  believed  alike  about  this  matter.  But  Pierre 
Morel,  and  Jacques  d'Arc,  and  many  others  believed  that  the 
vision  appeared  twice — to  a  sinner.  In  fact  they  and  many 
others  said  they  knew  it.  Probably  because  their  fathers  had 
known  it  and  had  told  them ;  for  one  gets  most  things  at  sec 
ond  hand  in  this  world. 

Now  one  thing  that  does  make  it  quite  likely  that  there 
were  really  two  apparitions  of  the  Tree  is  this  fact :  From 
the  most  ancient  times  if  one  saw  a  villager  of  ours  with 
his  face  ash-white  and  rigid  with  a  ghastly  fright,  it  was  com 
mon  for  every  one  to  whisper  to  his  neighbor,  "  Ah,  he  is  in 
sin,  and  has  got  his  warning."  And  the  neighbor  would  shud 
der  at  the  thought  and  whisper  back,  "  Yes,  poor  soul,  he  has 
seen  the  Tree." 

Such  evidences  as  these  have  their  weight ;  they  are  not  to 
be  put  aside  with  a  wave  of  the  hand.  A  thing  that  is  backed 


12 


by  the  cumulative  experience  of  centuries  naturally  gets  near 
er  and  nearer  to  being  proof  all  the  time  ;  and  if  this  continue 
and  continue,  it  will  some  day  become  authority — and  author 
ity  is  a  bedded  rock,  and  will  abide. 

In  my  long  life  I  have  seen  several  cases  where  the  Tree 
appeared  announcing  a  death  which  was  still  far  away ;  but 
in  none  of  these  was  the  person  in  a  state  of  sin.  No ;  the 
apparition  was  in  these  cases  only  a  special  grace ;  in  place 
of  deferring  the  tidings  of  that  soul's  redemption  till  the  day 
of  death,  the  apparition  brought  them  long  before,  and  with 
them  peace — peace  that  might  no  more  be  disturbed — the  eter 
nal  peace  of  God.  I  myself,  old  and  broken,  wait  with  seren 
ity  ;  for  I  have  seen  the  vision  of  the  Tree.  I  have  seen  it, 
and  am  content. 

Always,  from  the  remotest  times,  when  the  children  joined 
hands  and  danced  around  the  Fairy  Tree  they  sang  a  song 
which  was  the  Tree's  Song,  the  Song  of  E Arbre  Fee  de  Bour- 
lemont.  They  sang  it  to  a  quaint  sweet  air — a  solacing  sweet 
air  which  has  gone  murmuring  through  my  dreaming  spirit  all 
my  life  when  I  was  weary  and  troubled,  resting  me  and  carry 
ing  me  through  night  and  distance  home  again.  No  stranger 
can  know  or  feel  what  that  song  has  been,  through  the  drift 
ing  centuries,  to  exiled  Children  of  the  Tree,  homeless  and 
heavy  of  heart  in  countries  foreign  to  their  speech  and  ways. 
You  will  think  it  a  simple  thing,  that  song,  and  poor  per 
chance  ;  but  if  you  will  remember  what  it  was  to  us,  and  what 
it  brought  before  our  eyes  when  it  floated  through  our  memo 
ries,  then  you  will  respect  it.  And  you  will  understand  how 
the  water  wells  up  in  our  eyes  and  makes  all  things  dim,  and 
our  voices  break  and  we  cannot  sing  the  last  lines : 

"And  when  in  exile  wand'ring  we 
Shall  fainting  yearn  for  glimpse  of  thee, 
O  rise  upon  our  sight  !" 

And  you  will  remember  that  Joan  of  Arc  sang  this  song 
with  us  around  the  Tree  when  she  was  a  little  child,  and  al 
ways  loved  it.  And  that  hallows  it,  yes,  you  will  grant  that : 


13 
L'ARBRE   FEE   DE   BOURLEMONT 

SONG   OF  THE   CHILDREN 

Now  what  has  kept  your  leaves  so  green, 
Arbre  Fee  de  Bourlemont  ? 

The  children's  tears  !     They  brought  each  grief, 
And  you  did  comfort  them  and  cheer 
Their  bruised  hearts,  and  steal  a  tear 
That  healed  rose  a  leaf. 

And  what  has  built  you  up  so  strong, 

Arbre  Fee  de  Bourlemont  ? 
The  children's  love  !     They've  loved  you  long  : 

Ten  hundred  years,  in  sooth, 
They've  nourished  you  with  praise  and  s6ng, 
And  warmed  your  heart  and  kept  it  young — 

A  thousand  years  of  youth  ! 

Bide  alway  green  in  our  young  hearts, 

Arbre  Fee  de  Bourlemont  ! 
And  we  shall  alway  youthful  be, 

Not  heeding  Time  his  flight  ; 
And  when  in  exile  wand'ring  we 
Shall  fainting  yearn  for  glimpse  of  thee, 

O  rise  upon  our  sight  ! 

The  fairies  were  still  there  when  we  were  children,  but 
we  never  saw  them;  because,  a  hundred  years  before  that, 
the  priest  of  Domremy  had  held  a  religious  function  under 
the  tree  and  denounced  them  as  being  blood  kin  of  the 
Fiend  and  barred  out  from  redemption  ;  and  then  he  warned 
them  never  to  show  themselves  again,  nor  hang  any  more 
immortelles,  on  pain  of  perpetual  banishment  from  that  par 
ish. 

All  the  children  pleaded  for  the  fairies,  and  said  they  were 
their  good  friends  and  dear  to  them  and  never  did  them  any 
harm,  but  the  priest  would  not  listen,  and  said  it  was  sin  and 
shame  to  have  such  friends.  The  children  mourned  and 
could  not  be  comforted ;  and  they  made  an  agreement  among 
themselves  that  they  would  always  continue  to  hang  flower- 


wreaths  on  the  tree  as  a  perpetual  sign  to  the  fairies  that  they 
were  still  loved  and  remembered,  though  lost  to  sight. 

But  late  one  night  a  great  misfortune  befell.  Edmond  Au 
brey's  mother  passed  by  the  Tree,  and  the  fairies  were  stealing 
a  dance,  not  thinking  anybody  was  by  ;  and  they  were  so  busy, 
and  so  intoxicated  with  the  wild  happiness  of  it,  and  with  the 
bumpers  of  dew  sharpened  up  with  honey  which  they  had  been 
drinking,  that  they  noticed  nothing  •  so  Dame  Aubrey  stood 
there  astonished  and  admiring,  and  saw  the  little  fantastic 
atoms  holding  hands,  as  many  as  three  hundred  of  them,  tear 
ing  around  in  a  great  ring  half  as  big  as  an  ordinary  bedroom, 
and  leaning  away  back  and  spreading  their  mouths  with  laugh 
ter  and  song,  which  she  could  hear  quite  distinctly,  and  kick 
ing  their  legs  up  as  much  as  three  inches  from  the  ground 
in  perfect  abandon  and  hilarity  —  oh,  the  very  maddest  and 
witchingest  dance  the  woman  ever  saw. 

But  in  about  a  minute  or  two  minutes  the  poor  little  ruined 
creatures  discovered  her.  They  burst  out  in  one  heart-break 
ing  squeak  of  grief  and  terror  and  fled  every  which  way,  with 
their  wee  hazel-nut  fists  in  their  eyes  and  crying ;  and  so  dis 
appeared. 

The  heartless  woman — no,  the  foolish  woman  ;  she  was  not 
heartless,  but  only  thoughtless — went  straight  home  and  told 
the  neighbors  all  about  it,  whilst  we,  the  small  friends  of  the 
fairies,  were  asleep  and  not  witting  the  calamity  that  was  come 
upon  us,  and  all  unconscious  that  we  ought  to  be  up  and  try 
ing  to  stop  these  fatal  tongues.  In  the  morning  everybody 
knew,  and  the  disaster  was  complete,  for  where  everybody 
knows  a  thing  the  priest  knows  it,  of  course.  We  all  flocked 
to  Pere  Fronte,  crying  and  begging — and  he  had  to  cry,  too, 
seeing  our  sorrow,  for  he  had  a  most  kind  and  gentle  nature  ; 
and  he  did  not  want  to  banish  the  fairies,  and  said  so;  but 
said  he  had  no  choice,  for  it  had  been  decreed  that  if  they 
ever  revealed  themselves  to  man  again,  they  must  go.  This 
all  happened  at  the  worst  time  possible,  for  Joan  of  Arc  was 
ill  of  a  fever  and  out  of  her  head,  and  what  could  we  do  who 
had  not  her  gifts  of  reasoning  and  persuasion  ?  We  flew  in  a 


15 

swarm  to  her  bed  and  cried  out,  "  Joan,  wake  !  Wake,  there 
is  no  moment  to  lose  !  Come  and  plead  for  the  fairies — come 
and  save  them ;  only  you  can  do  it." 

But  her  mind  was  wandering,  she  did  not  know  what  we 
said  nor  what  we  meant ;  so  we  went  away  knowing  all  was 
lost.  Yes,  all  was  lost,  forever  lost;  the  faithful  friends  of  the 
children  for  five  hundred  years  must  go,  and  never  come  back 
any  more. 

It  was  a  bitter  day  for  us,  that  day  that  Pere  Fronte  held 
the  function  under  the  tree  and  banished  the  fairies.  We 
could  not  wear  mourning  that  any  could  have  noticed,  it  would 
not  have  been  allowed ;  so  we  had  to  be  content  with  some 
poor  small  rag  of  black  tied  upon  our  garments  where  it  made 
no  show ;  but  in  our  hearts  we  wore  mourning  big  and  noble 
and  occupying  all  the  room,  for  our  hearts  were  ours;  they 
could  not  get  at  them  to  prevent  that. 

The  great  tree — VArbre  Fee  de  Bourlemont  was  its  beautiful 
name — was  never  afterward  quite  as  much  to  us  as  it  had  been 
before,  but  it  was  always  dear ;  is  dear  to  me  yet  when  I  go 
there,  now,  once  a  year  in  my  old  age,  to  sit  under  it  and  bring 
back  the  lost  playmates  of  my  youth  and  group  them  about 
me  and  look  upon  their  faces  through  my  tears  and  break  my 
heart,  oh,  my  God  !  No,  the  place  was  not  quite  the  same 
afterwards.  In  one  or  two  ways  it  could  not  be  ;  for,  the 
fairies'  protection  being  gone,  the  spring  lost  much  of  its 
freshness  and  coldness,  and  more  than  two-thirds  of  its  volume, 
and  the  banished  serpents  and  stinging  insects  returned,  and 
multiplied,  and  became  a  torment  and  have  remained  so  to 
this  day. 

When  that  wise  little  child,  Joan,  got  well,  we  realized  how 
much  her  illness  had  cost  us;  for  we  found  that  we  had  been 
right  in  believing  she  could  save  the  fairies.  She  burst  into 
a  great  storm  of  anger,  for  so  little  a  creature,  and  went 
straight  to  Pere  Fronte,  and  stood  up  before  him  where  he 
sat,  and  made  reverence  and  said: 

"  The  fairies  were  to  go  if  they  showed  themselves  to  peo 
ple  again,  is  it  not  so  ?'' 


i6 


"Yes,  that  was  it,  dear." 

"  If  a  man  comes  prying  into  a  person's  room  at  midnight 
when  that  person  is  half  naked,  will  you  be  so  unjust  as  to 
say  that  that  person  is  showing  himself  to  that  man  .?" 

"  Well— no."  The  good  priest  looked  a  little  troubled  and 
uneasy  when  he  said  it. 

"  Is  a  sin  a  sin  anyway,  even  if  one  did  not  intend  to  com 
mit  it  ?" 

Pere  Fronte  threw  up  his  hands  and  cried  out — 

"  Oh,  my  poor  little  child,  I  see  all  my  fault,"  and  he  drew 
her  to  his  side  and  put  his  arm  around  her  and  tried  to  make 
his  peace  with  her,  but  her  temper  was  up  so  high  that  she 
could  not  get  it  down  right  away,  but  buried  her  head  against 
his  breast  and  broke  out  crying  and  said  : 

"  Then  the  fairies  committed  no  sin,  for  there  was  no  in 
tention  to  commit  one,  they  not  knowing  that  any  one  was 
by;  and  because  they  were  little  creatures  and  could  not 
speak  for  themselves  and  say  the  law  was  against  the  inten 
tion,  not  against  the  innocent  act,  and  because  they  had  no 
friend  to  think  that  simple  thing  for  them  and  say  it,  they 
have  been  sent  away  from  their  home  forever,  and  it  was 
wrong,  wrong  to  do  it !" 

The  good  father  hugged  her  yet  closer  to  his  side  and  said: 

"Oh,  out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  the  heed 
less  and  unthinking  are  condemned  :  would  God  I  could  bring 
the  little  creatures  back,  for  your  sake.  And  mine,  yes,  and 
mine;  for  I  have  been  unjust.  There,  there,  don't  cry — no 
body  could  be  sorrier  than  your  poor  old  friend— don't  cry, 
dear." 

"  But  I  can't  stop  right  away,  I've  got  to.  And  it  is  no  little 
matter,  this  thing  that  you  have  done.  Is  being  sorry  pen 
ance  enough  for  such  an  act  ?" 

Pere  Fronte  turned  away  his  face,  for  it  would  have  hurt 
her  to  see  him  laugh,  and  said  : 

"  Oh,  thou  remorseless  but  most  just  accuser,  no,  it  is  not. 
I  will  put  on  sackcloth  and  ashes ;  there — are  you  satisfied  ?" 

Joan's  sobs  began  to  diminish,  and  she  presently  looked 


up  at  the  old  man  through  her  tears,  and  said,  in  her  simple 
way  : 

"  Yes,  that  will  do — if  it  will  clear  you." 

Pere  Fronte  would  have  been  moved  to  laugh  again,  per 
haps,  if  he  had  not  remembered  in  time  that  he  had  made  a 
contract,  and  not  a  very  agreeable  one.  It  must  be  fulfilled. 
So  he  got  up  and  went  to  the  fireplace,  Joan  watching  him 
with  deep  interest,  and  took  a  shovelful  of  cold  ashes,  and 
was  going  to  empty  them  on  his  old  gray  head  when  a  better 
idea  came  to  him,  and  he  said  : 

"Would  you  mind  helping  me,  dear?" 

"  How,  father  ?" 

He  got  down  on  his  knees  and  bent  his  head  low,  and 
said  : 

"  Take  the  ashes  and  put  them  on  my  head  for  me." 

The  matter  ended  there,  of  course.  The  victory  was  with 
the  pries^.  One  can  imagine  how  the  idea  of  such  a  profana 
tion  would  strike  Joan  or  any  other  child  in  the  village.  She 
ran  and  dropped  upon  her  knees  by  his  side  and  said : 

"  Oh,  it  is  dreadful.  I  didn't  know  that  that  was  what  one 
meant  by  sackcloth  and  ashes' — do  please  get  up,  father." 

"  But  I  can't  until  I  am  forgiven.     Do  you  forgive  me  ?" 

"  I  ?  Oh,  you  have  done  nothing  to  me,  father;  it  is  your 
self  ft&.\.  must  forgive  yourself  for  wronging  those  poor  things. 
Please  get  up,  father,  won't  you  ?" 

"  But  I  am  worse  off  now  than  I  was  before.  I  thought  I 
was  earning  your  forgiveness,  but  if  it  is  my  own,  I  can't  be 
lenient ;  it  would  not  become  me.  Now  what  can  I  do  ? 
Find  me  some  way  out  of  this  with  your  wise  little  head." 

The  Pere  would  not  stir,  for  all  Joan's  pleadings.  She  was 
about  to  cry  again  ;  then  she  had  an  idea,  and  seized  the 
shovel  and  deluged  her  own  head  with  the  ashes,  stammering 
out  through  her  chokings  and  suffocations — 

"  There — now  it  is  done.     Oh,  please  get  up,  father." 

The  old  man,  both  touched  and  amused,  gathered  her  to  his 
breast  and  said — 

"Oh,  you  incomparable  child!     It's  a  humble  martyrdom, 


i8 


and  not  of  a  sort  presentable  in  a  picture,  but  the  right  and  true 
spirit  is  in  it ;  that  I  testify." 

Then  he  brushed  the  ashes  out  of  her  hair,  and  helped  her 
scour  her  face  and  neck  and  properly  tidy  herself  up.  He  was 
in  fine  spirits  now,  and  ready  for  further  argument,  so  he  took 
his  seat  and  drew  Joan  to  his  side  again,  and  said : 

"Joan,  you  were  used  to  make  wreaths  there  at  the  Fairy 
Tree  with  the  other  children ;  is  it  not  so  ?" 

That  was  the  way  he  always  started  out  when  he  was  going 
to  corner  me  up  and  catch  me  in  something — just  that  gentle, 
indifferent  way  that  fools  a  person  so,  and  leads  him  into  the 
trap,  he  never  noticing  which  way  he  is  travelling  until  he  is 
in  and  the  door  shut  on  him.  He  enjoyed  that.  I  knew  he 
was  going  to  drop  corn  along  in  front  of  Joan  now.  Joan  an 
swered  : 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Did  you  hang  them  on  the  tree  ?" 

"No,  father." 

"  Didn't  hang  them  there  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Why  didn't  you  ?" 

"  I— well,  I  didn't  wish  to." 

"  Didn't  wish  to  ?" 

"No,  father." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  them  ?" 

"  I  hung  them  in  the  church." 

"Why  didn't  you  want  to  hang  them  in  the  tree  ?" 

"  Because  it  was  said  that  the  fairies  were  of  kin  to  the 
Fiend,  and  that  it  was  sinful  to  show  them  honor." 

"  Did  you  believe  it  was  wrong  to  honor  them  so  ?" 

"Yes.     I  thought  it  must  be  wrong." 

"  Then  if  it  was  wrong  to  honor  them  in  that  way,  and  if 
they  were  of  kin  to  the  Fiend,  they  could  be  dangerous  com 
pany  for  you  and  the  other  children,  couldn't  they  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so— yes,  I  think  so." 

He  studied  a  minute,  and  I  judged  he  was  going  to  spring 
his  trap,  and  he  did.  He  said  : 


'9 

"  Then  the  matter  stands  like  this.  They  were  banned 
creatures,  of  fearful  origin;  they  could  be  dangerous  com 
pany  for  the  children.  Now  give  me  a  rational  reason,  dear,  if 
you  can  think  of  any,  why  you  call  it  a  wrong  to  drive  them 
into  banishment,  and  why  you  would  have  saved  them  from 
it.  In  a  word,  what  loss  have  you  suffered  by  it  ?" 

How  stupid  of  him  to  go  and  throw  his  case  away  like  that ! 
I  could  have  boxed  his  ears  for  vexation  if  he  had  been  a  boy. 
He  was  going  along  all  right  until  he  ruined  everything  by 
winding  up  in  that  foolish  and  fatal  way.  What  had  she  lost 
by  it !  Was  he  never  going  to  find  out  what  kind  of  a  child 
Joan  of  Arc  was  ?  Was  he  never  going  to  learn  that  things 
which  merely  concerned  her  own  gain  or  loss  she  cared  noth 
ing  about?  Could  he  never  get  the  simple  fact  into  his  head 
that  the  sure  way  and  the  only  way  to  rouse  her  up  and  set 
her  on  fire  was  to  show  her  where  some  other  person  was  go 
ing  to  suffer  wrong  or  hurt  or  loss  ?  Why,  he  had  gone  and 
set  a  trap  for  himself — that  was  all  he  had  accomplished. 

The  minute  those  words  were  out  of  his  mouth  her  temper 
was  up,  the  indignant  tears  rose  in  her  eyes,  and  she  burst 
out  on  him  with  an  energy  and  passion  which  astonished  him, 
but  didn't  astonish  me,  for  I  knew  he  had  fired  a  mine  when 
he  touched  off  his  ill-chosen  climax. 

"  Oh,  father,  how  can  you  talk  like  that  ?  Who  owns 
France  ?" 

"God  and  the  King." 

"Not  Satan?" 

"  Satan,  my  child  ?  This  is  the  footstool  of  the  Most 
High — Satan  owns  no  handful  of  its  soil." 

"  Then  who  gave  those  poor  creatures  their  home  ?  God. 
Who  protected  them  in  it  all  those  centuries  ?  God.  Who 
allowed  them  to  dance  and  play  there  all  those  centuries 
and  found  no  fault  with  it  ?  God.  Who  disapproved  of 
God's  approval  and  put  a  threat  upon  them  ?  A  man.  Who 
caught  them  again  in  harmless  sports  that  God  allowed  and 
a  man  forbade,  and  carried  out  that  threat,  and  drove  the 
poor  things  away  from  the  home  the  good  God  gave  them 


20 


in  His  mercy  and  His  pity,  and  sent  down  His  rain  and 
dew  and  sunshine  upon  it  five  hundred  years  in  token  of  His 
peace  ?  It  was  their  home — theirs,  by  the  grace  of  God  and 
His  good  heart,  and  no  man  had  a  right  to  rob  them  of  it. 
And  they  were  the  gentlest,  truest  friends  that  children  ever 
had,  and  did  them  sweet  and  loving  service  all  these  five 
long  centuries,  and  never  any  hurt  or  harm ;  and  the  children 
loved  them,  and  now  they  mourn  for  them,  and  there  is  no 
healing  for  their  grief.  And  what  had  the  children  done  that 
they  should  suffer  this  cruel  stroke  ?  The  poor  fairies  could 
have  been  dangerous  company  for  the  children  ?  Yes,  but 
never  had  been ;  and  could  is  no  argument.  Kinsman  of 
the  Fiend?  What  of  it?  Kinsmen  of  the  Fiend  have  rights, 
and  these  had ;  and  children  have  rights,  and  these  had ; 
and  if  I  had  been  here  I  would  have  spoken — I  would  have 
begged  for  the  children  and  the  fiends,  and  stayed  your  hand 
and  saved  them  all.  But  now — oh,  now,  all  is  lost;  everything 
is  lost,  and  there  is  no  help  more  !" 

Then  she  finished  with  a  blast  at  that  idea  that  fairy  kins 
men  of  the  Fiend  ought  to  be  shunned  and  denied  human 
sympathy  and  friendship  because  salvation  was  barred  against 
them.  She  said  that  for  that  very  reason  people  ought  to  pity 
them,  and  do  every  humane  and  loving  thing  they  could  to 
make  them  forget  the  hard  fate  that  had  been  put  upon 
them  by  accident  of  birth  and  no  fault  of  their  own.  "  Poor 
little  creatures !"  she  said.  "  What  can  a  person's  heart  be 
made  of  that  can  pity  a  Christian's  child  and  yet  can't  pity  a 
devil's  child,  that  a  thousand  times  more  needs  it !" 

She  had  torn  loose  from  Pere  Fronte,  and  was  crying,  with 
her  knuckles  in  her  eyes,  and  stamping  her  small  feet  in  a 
fury;  and  now  she  burst  out  of  the  place  and  was  gone 
before  we  could  gather  our  senses  together  out  of  this  storm 
of  words  and  this  whirlwind  of  passion. 

The  Pere  had  got  upon  his  feet,  toward  the  last,  and  now 
he  stood  there  passing  his  hand  back  and  forth  across  his 
forehead  like  a  person  who  is  dazed  and  troubled ;  then  he 
turned  and  wandered  toward  the  door  of  his  little  work- 


21 


room,  and  as  he  passed  through  it  I  heard  him  murmur 
sorrowfully  : 

"  Ah  me,  poor  children,  poor  fiends,  they  have  rights,  and 
she  said  true — I  never  thought  of  that.  God  forgive  me,  I 
am  to  blame." 

When  I  heard  that,  I  knew  I  was  right  in  the  thought  that 
he  had  set  a  trap  for  himself.  It  was  so,  and  he  had  walked 
into  it,  you  see.  I  seemed  to  feel  encouraged,  and  wondered 
if  mayhap  I  might  get  him  into  one ;  but  upon  reflection 
my  heart  went  down,  for  this  was  not  my  gift. 


CHAPTER   III 

SPEAKING  of  this  matter  reminds  me  of  many  incidents, 
many  things  that  I  could  tell,  but  1  think  I  will  not  try  to  do  it 
now.  It  will  be  more  to  my  present  humor  to  call  back  a  little 
glimpse  of  the  simple  and  colorless  good  times  we  used  to 
have  in  our  village  homes  in  those  peaceful  days — especially 
in  the  winter.  In  the  summer  we  children  were  out  on  the 
breezy  uplands  with  the  flocks  from  dawn  till  night,  and  then 
there  was  noisy  frolicking  and  all  that;  but  winter  was  the 
cosey  time,  winter  was  the  snug  time.  Often  we  gathered  in 
old  Jacques  d'Arc's  big  dirt-floored  apartment,  with  a  great 
fire  going,  and  played  games,  and  sang  songs,  and  told  fort 
unes,  and  listened  to  the  old  villagers  tell  tales  and  histories 
and  lies  and  one  thing  and  another  till  twelve  o'clock  at 
night. 

One  winter's  night  we  were  gathered  there — it  was  the  winter 
that  for  years  afterward  they  called  the  hard  winter — and  that 
particular  night  was  a  sharp  one.  It  blew  a  gale  outside,  and 
the  screaming  of  the  wind  was  a  stirring  sound,  and  I  think  I 
may  say  it  was  beautiful,  for  I  think  it  is  great  and  fine  and 
beautiful  to  hear  the  wind  rage  and  storm  and  blow  its  clari 
ons  like  that,  when  you  are  inside  and  comfortable.  And  we 
were.  We  had  a  roaring  fire,  and  the  pleasant  spit-spit  of 
the  snow  and  sleet  falling  in  it  down  the  chimney,  and  the 
yarning  and  laughing  and  singing  went  on  at  a  noble  rate 
till  about  ten  o'clock,  and  then  we  had  a  supper  of  hot  por 
ridge  and  beans,  and  meal  cakes  with  butter,  and  appetites  to 
match. 

Little  Joan  sat  on  a  box  apart,  and  had  her  bowl  and  bread 
on  another  one,  and  her  pets  around  her,  helping.  She  had 


23 

more  than  was  usual  of  them  or  economical,  because  all  the 
outcast  cats  came  and  took  up  with  her,  and  homeless  or  un 
lovable  animals  of  other  kinds  heard  about  it  and  came,  and 
these  spread  the  matter  to  the  other  creatures,  and  they  came 
also;  and  as  the  birds  and  the  other  timid  wild  things  of  the 
woods  were  not  afraid  of  her,  but  always  had  an  idea  she  was 
a  friend  when  they  came  across  her,  and  generally  struck  up 
an  acquaintance  with  her  to  get  invited  to  the  house,  she  al 
ways  had  samples  of  those  breeds  in  stock.  She  was  hospi 
table  to  them  all,  for  an  animal  was  an  animal  to  her,  and 
dear  by  mere  reason  of  being  an  animal,  no  matter  about 
its  sort  or  social  station  ;  and  as  she  would  allow  of  no  cages, 
no  collars,  no  fetters,  but  left  the  creatures  free  to  come  and 
go  as  they  liked,  that  contented  them,  and  they  came ;  but 
they  didn't  go,  to  any  extent,  and  so  they  were  a  marvellous 
nuisance,  and  made  Jacques  d'Arc  swear  a  good  deal ;  but  his 
wife  said  God  gave  the  child  the  instinct,  and  knew  what  He 
was  doing  when  He  did  it,  therefore  it  must  have  its  course  ; 
it  would  be  no  sound  prudence  to  meddle  with  His  affairs 
when  no  invitation  had  been  extended.  So  the  pets  were  left 
in  peace,  and  here  they  were,  as  I  have  said,  rabbits,  birds, 
squirrels,  cats,  and  other  reptiles,  all  around  the  child,  and  full 
of  interest  in  her  supper,  and  helping  what  they  could.  There 
was  a  very  small  squirrel  on  her  shoulder,  sitting  up,  as  those 
creatures  do,  and  turning  a  rocky  fragment  of  prehistoric 
chestnut-cake  over  and  over  in  its  knotty  hands,  and  hunting 
for  the  less  indurated  places,  and  giving  its  elevated  bushy 
tail  a  flirt  and  its  pointed  ears  a  toss  when  it  found  one — 
signifying  thankfulness  and  surprise — and  then  it  filed  that 
place  off  with  those  two  slender  front  teeth  which  a  squirrel 
carries  for  that  purpose  and  not  for  ornament,  for  ornamental 
they  never  could  be,  as  any  will  admit  that  have  noticed  them. 
Everything  was  going  fine  and  breezy  and  hilarious,  but 
then  there  came  an  interruption,  for  somebody  hammered  on 
the  door.  It  was  -one  of  those  ragged  road-stragglers— the 
eternal  wars  kept  the  country  full  of  them.  He  came  in,  all 
over  snow,  and  stamped  his  feet  and  shook  and  brushed  him- 


self,  and  shut  the  door,  and  took  off  his  limp  ruin  of  a  hat  and 
slapped  it  once  or  twice  against  his  leg  to  knock  off  its  fleece 
of  snow,  and  then  glanced  around  on  the  company  with  a 
pleased  look  upon  his  thin  face,  and  a  most  yearning  and 
famished  one  in  his  eye  when  it  fell  upon  the  victuals,  and 
then  he  gave  us  a  humble  and  conciliatory  salutation,  and 
said  it  was  a  blessed  thing  to  have  a  fire  like  that  on  such  a 
night,  and  a  roof  overhead  like  this,  and  that  rich  food  to  eat, 
and  loving  friends  to  talk  with — ah,  yes,  this  was 'true,  and  God 
help  the  homeless,  and  such  as  must  trudge  the  roads  in  this 
weather. 

Nobody  said  anything.  The  embarrassed  poor  creature 
stood  there  and  appealed  to  one  face  after  the  other  with  his 
eyes,  and  found  no  welcome  in  any,  the  smile  on  his  own 
face  flickering  and  fading  and  perishing,  meanwhile ;  then  he 
dropped  his  gaze,  the  muscles  of  his  face  began  to  twitch,  and 
he  put  up  his  hand  to  cover  this  womanish  sign  of  weakness. 

"Sit  down!" 

This  thunder-blast  was  from  old  Jacques  d'Arc,  and  Joan 
was  the  object  of  it.  The  stranger  was  startled,  and  took  his 
hand  away,  and  there  was  Joan  standing  before  him  offering 
him  her  bowl  of  porridge.  The  man  said, 

"  God  Almighty  bless  you,  my  darling !"  and  then  the  tears 
came,  and  ran  down  his  cheeks,  but  he  was  afraid  to  take 
the  bowl. 

"  Do  you  hear  me  ?     Sit  clown,  I  say  !" 

There  could  not  be  a  child  more  easy  to  persuade  than 
Joan,  but  this  was  not  the  way.  Her  father  had  not  the  art ; 
neither  could  he  learn  it.  Joan  said, 

"  Father,  he  is  hungry  ;  I  can  see  it." 

"  Let  him  go  work  for  food,  then.  We  are  being  eaten  out 
of  house  and  Ijome  by  his  like,  and  I  have  said  I  would  en 
dure  it  no  more,  and  will  keep  my  word.  He  has  the  face  of 
a  rascal  anyhow,  and  a  villain.  Sit  down,  I  tell  you  !" 

"  I  know  not  if  he  is  a  rascal  or  no,  but  he  is  hungry,  father, 
and  shall  have  my  porridge — I  do  not  need  it." 

"  If  you  don't  obey  me  I'll —   Rascals  are  not  entitled  to  help 


25 

from  honest  people,  and  no  bite  nor  sup  shall  they  have  in 
this  house.  Joan!" 

She  set  her  bowl  down  on  the  box  and  came  over  and  stood 
before  her  scowling  father,  and  said  : 

"  Father,  if  you  will  not  let  me,  then  it  must  be  as  you  say ; 
but  I  would  that  you  would  think — then  you  would  see  that  it 
is  not  right  to  punish  one  part  of  him  for  what  the  other  part 
has  done;  for  it  is  that  poor  stranger's  head  that  does  the  evil 
things,  but  it  is  not  his  head  that  is  hungry,  it  is  his  stomach, 
and  it  has  done  no  harm  to  anybody,  but  is  without  blame, 
and  innocent,  not  having  any  way  to  do  a  wrong,  even  if  it 
was  minded  to  it.  Please  let — 

"  What  an  idea  !  It  is  the  most  idiotic  speech  I  ever 
heard." 

But  Aubrey,  the  maire,  broke  in,  he  being  fond  of  an  argu 
ment,  and  having  a  pretty  gift  in  that  regard,  as  all  acknowl 
edged.  Rising  in  his  place  and  leaning  his  knuckles  upon 
the  table  and  looking  about  him  with  easy  dignity,  after  the 
manner  of  such  as  be  orators,  he  began,  smooth  and  per 
suasive  : 

"  I  will  differ  with  you  there,  gossip,  and  will  undertake  to 
show  the  company " — here  he  looked  around  upon  us  and 
nodded  his  head  in  a  confident  way — "that  there  is  a  grain 
of  sense  in  what  the  child  has  said  ;  for  look  you,  it  is  of  a 
certainty  most  true  and  demonstrable  that  it  is  a  man's  head 
that  is  master  and  supreme  ruler  over  his  whole  body.  Is 
that  granted  ?  Will  any  deny  it  ?1'  He  glanced  around  again  ; 
everybody  indicated  assent.  "Very  well,  then;  that  being 
the  case,  no  part  of  the  body  is  responsible  for  the  result 
when  it  carries  out  an  order  delivered  to  it  by  the  head ;  ergo, 
the  head  is  alone  responsible  for  crimes  done  by  a  man's 
hands  or  feet  or  stomach — do  you  get  the  idea  ?  am  I  right 
thus  far?"  Everybody  said  yes,  and  said  it  with  enthusiasm, 
and  some  said,  one  to  another,  that  the  maire  was  in  great 
form  to-night  and  at  his  very  best — which  pleased  the  maire 
exceedingly  and  made  his  eyes  sparkle  with  pleasure,  for  he 
overheard  these  things ;  so  he  went  on  in  the  same  fertile  and 


26 


brilliant  way.  "  Now,  then,  we  will  consider  what  the  term 
responsibility  means,  and  how  it  affects  the  case  in  point. 
Responsibility  makes  a  man  responsible  for  only  those  things 
for  which  he  is  properly  responsible  "  —  and  he  waved  his 
spoon  around  in  a  wide  sweep  to  indicate  the  comprehensive 
nature  of  that  class  of  responsibilities  which  render  people 
responsible,  and  several  exclaimed,  admiringly,  "  He  is  right ! 
— he  has  put  that  whole  tangled  thing  into  a  nutshell — it  is 
wonderful !"  After  a  little  pause  to  give  the  interest  oppor 
tunity  to  gather  and  grow,  he  went  on  :  "  Very  good.  Let  us 
suppose  the  case  of  a  pair  of  tongs  that  falls  upon  a  man's 
foot,  causing  a  cruel  hurt.  Will  you  claim  that  the  tongs  are 
punishable  for  that?  The  question  is  answered:  I  see  by 
your  faces  that  you  would  call  such  a  claim  absurd.  Now, 
why  is  it  absurd  ?  It  is  absurd  because,  there  being  no  rea 
soning  faculty  —  that  is  to  say,  no  faculty  of  personal  com 
mand — in  a  pair  of  tongs,  personal  responsibility  for  the  acts 
of  the  tongs  is  wholly  absent  from  the  tongs;  and  therefore, 
responsibility  being  absent,  punishment  cannot  ensue.  Am 
I  right  ?"  ^A  hearty  burst  of  applause  was  his  answer.  "  Now, 
then,  we  arrive  at  a  man's  stomach.  Consider  how  exactly, 
how  marvellously,  indeed,  its  situation  corresponds  to  that 
of  a  pair  of  tongs.  Listen — and  take  careful  note,  I  beg  you. 
Can  a  man's  stomach  plan  a  murder?  No.  Can  it  plan  a 
theft  ?  No.  Can  it  plan  an  incendiary  fire  ?  No.  Now 
answer  me  —  can  a  pair  of  tongs  ?"  (There  were  admiring 
shouts  of  "  No !"  and  "The  cases  are  just  exact !"  and  "  Don't 
he  do  it  splendid  !")  "  Now,  then,  friends  and  neighbors,  a 
stomach  which  cannot  plan  a  crime  cannot  be  a  principal  in 
the  commission  of  it — that  is  plain,  as  you  see.  The  matter 
is  narrowed  down  by  that  much  ;  we  will  narrow  it  further. 
Can  a  stomach,  of  its  own  motion,  assist  at  a  crime  ?  The 
answer  is  no,  because  command  is  absent,  the  reasoning 
faculty  is  absent,  volition  is  absent  —  as  in  the  case  of  the 
tongs.  We  perceive,  now,  do  we  not,  that  the  stomach  is  totally 
irresponsible  for  crimes  committed,  either  in  whole  or  in  part, 
by  it  ?"  He  got  a  rousing  cheer  for  response.  "  Then  what 


do  we  arrive  at  as  our  verdict  ?  Clearly  this :  that  there  is 
no  such  thing  in  this  world  as  a  guilty  stomach ;  that  in  the 
body  of  the  veriest  rascal  resides  a  pure  and  innocent  stom 
ach  ;  that,  whatever  its  owner  may  do,  //  at  least  should  be 
sacred  in  our  eyes;  and  that  while  God  gives  us  minds  to 
think  just  and  charitable  and  honorable  thoughts,  it  should 
be  and  is  our  privilege,  as  well  as  our  duty,  not  only  to  feed 
the  hungry  stomach  that  resides  in  a  rascal,  having  pity  for 
its  sorrow  and  its  need,  but  to  do  it  gladly,  gratefully,  in  recog 
nition  of  its  sturdy  and  loyal  maintenance  of  its  purity  and 
innocence  in  the  midst  of  temptation  and  in  company  so 
repugnant  to  its  better  feelings.  I  am  done." 

Well,  you  never  saw  such  an  effect !  They  rose — the  whole 
house  rose — and  clapped,  and  cheered,  and  praised  him  to  the 
skies  ;  and  one  after  another,  still  clapping  and  shouting,  they 
crowded  forward,  some  with  moisture  in  their  eyes,  and  wrung 
his  hands,  and  said  such  glorious  things  to  him  that  he  was 
clear  overcome  with  pride  and  happiness,  and  couldn't  say  a 
word,  for  his  voice  would  have  broken,  sure.  It  was  splendid 
to  see ;  and  everybody  said  he  had  never  come  up  to  that 
speech  in  his  life  before,  and  never  could  do  it  again.  Elo 
quence  is  a  power,  there  is  no  question  of  that.  Even  old 
Jacques  d'Arc  was  carried  away,  for  once  in  his  life,  and 
shouted  out— 

"  It's  all  right,  Joan — give  him  the  porridge  !" 

She  was  embarrassed,  and  did  not  seem  to  know  what  to 
say,  and  so  didn't  say  anything.  It  was  because  she  had 
given  the  man  the  porridge  long  ago,  and  he  had  already 
eaten  it  all  up.  When  .she  was  asked  why  she  had  not  waited 
until  a  decision  was  arrived  at,  she  said  the  man's  stomach 
was  very  hungry,  and  it  would  not  have  been  wise  to  wait, 
since  she  could  not  tell  what  the  decision  would  be.  Now 
that  was  a  good  and  thoughtful  idea  for  a  child. 

The  man  was  not  a  rascal  at  all.  He  was  a  very  good  fel 
low,  only  he  was  out  of  luck,  and  surely  that  was  no  crime  at 
that  time  in  France.  Now  that  his  stomach  was  proved  to 
be  innocent,  it  was  allowed  to  make  itself  at  home ;  and  as 


28 


soon  as  it  was  well  filled  and  needed  nothing  more,  the  man 
unwound  his  tongue  and  turned  it  loose,  and  it  was  really  a 
noble  one  to  go.  He  had  been  in  the  wars  for  years,  and  the 
things  he  told,  and  the  way  he  told  them,  fired  everybody's 
patriotism  away  up  high,  and  set  all  hearts  to  thumping  and 
all  pulses  to  leaping ;  then,  before  anybody  rightly  knew  how 
the  change  was  made,  he  was  leading  us  a  sublime  march 
through  the  ancient  glories  of  France,  and  in  fancy  we  saw 
the  titanic  forms  of  the  twelve  paladins  rise  out  of  the  mists 
of  the  past  and  face  their  fate;  we  heard  the  tread  of  the  in 
numerable  hosts  sweeping  down  to  shut  them  in  ;  we  saw  this 
human  tide  flow  and  ebb,  ebb  and  flow,  and  waste  away  be 
fore  that  little  band  of  heroes;  we  saw  each  detail  pass  before 
us  of  that  most  stupendous,  most  disastrous,  yet  most  adored 
and  glorious  day  in  French  legendary  history  ;  here  and  there 
and  yonder,  across  that  vast  field  of  the  dead  and  dying,  we 
saw  this  and  that  and  the  other  paladin  dealing  his  prodig 
ious  blows  with  weary  arm  and  failing  strength,  and  one  by 
one  we  saw  them  fall,  till  only  one  remained — he  that  was 
without  peer,  he  whose  name  gives  name  to  the  Song  of 
Songs,  the  song  which  no  Frenchman  can  hear  and  keep  his 
feelings  down  and  his  pride  of  country  cool ;  then,  grandest 
and  pitifulest  scene  of  all,  we  saw  his  own  pathetic  death ; 
and  our  stillness,  as  we  sat  with  parted  lips  and  breathless, 
hanging  upon  this  man's  words,  gave  us  a  sense  of  the  awful 
stillness  that  reigned  in  that  field  of  slaughter  when  that  last 
surviving  soul  had  passed. 

And  now,  in  this  solemn  hush,  the  stranger  gave  Joan  a 
pat  or  two  on  the  head  and  said  : 

"  Little  maid — whom  God  keep  ! — you  have  brought  me 
from  death  to  life  this  night ;  now  listen  :  here  is  your  re 
ward,"  and  at  that  supreme  time  for  such  a  heart-mslting, 
soul-rousing  surprise,  without  another  word  he  lifted  up  the 
most  noble  and  pathetic  voice  that  was  ever  heard,  and  began 
to  pour  out  the  great  Song  of  Roland ! 

Think  of  that,  with  a  French  audience  all  stirred  up  and 
ready.  Oh,  where  was  your  spoken  eloquence  now!  what  was 


29 

it  to  this  !  How  fine  he  looked,  how  stately,  how  inspired,  as 
he  stood  there  with  that  mighty  chant  welling  from  his  lips 
and  his  heart,  his  whole  body  transfigured,  and  his  rags  along 
with  it. 

Everybody  rose  and  stood,  while  he  sang,  and  their  faces 
glowed  and  their  eyes  burned;  and  the  tears  came  and  flowed 
down  their  cheeks,  and  their  forms  began  to  sway  uncon 
sciously  to  the  swing  of  the  song,  and  their  bosoms  to  heave 
and  pant;  and  meanings  broke  out,  and  deep  ejaculations; 
and  when  the  last  verse  was  reached,  and  Roland  lay  dying, 
all  alone,  with  his  face  to  the  field  and  to  his  slain,  lying  there 
in  heaps  and  winrows,  and  took  off  and  held  up  his  gauntlet 
to  God  with  his  failing  hand,  and  breathed  his  beautiful  prayer 
with  his  paling  lips,  all  burst  out  in  sobs  and  wailings.  But 
when  the  final  great  note  died  out  and  the  song  was  done, 
they  all  flung  themselves  in  a  body  at  the  singer,  stark  mad 
with  love  of  him  and  love  of  France  and  pride  in  her  great 
deeds  and  old  renown,  and  smothered  him  with  their  em- 
bracings  ;  but  Joan  was  there  first,  hugged  close  to  his  breast, 
and  covering  his  face  with  idolatrous  kisses. 

The  storm  raged  on  outside,  but  that  was  no  matter;  this 
was  the  stranger's  home  now,  for  as  long  as  he  might  please. 


CHAPTER   IV 

ALL  children  have  nicknames,  and  we  had  ours.  We  got 
one  apiece  early,  and  they  stuck  to  us ;  but  Joan  was  richer 
in  this  matter,  for  as  time  went  on  she  earned  a  second,  and 
then  a  third,  and  so  on,  and  we  gave  them  to  her.  First  and 
last  she  had  as  many  as  half  a  dozen.  Several  of  these  she 
never  lost.  Peasant  girls  are  bashful  naturally;  but  she  sur 
passed  the  rule  so  far,  and  colored  so  easily,  and  was  so  easily 
embarrassed  in  the  presence  of  strangers,  that  we  nicknamed 
her  the  Bashful.  We  were  all  patriots,  but  she  was  called 
the  Patriot,  because  our  warmest  feeling  for  our  country  was 
cold  beside  hers.  Also  she  was  called  the  Beautiful ;  and 
this  was  not  merely  because  of  the  extraordinary  beauty  of 
her  face  and  form,  but  because  of  the  loveliness  of  her  char 
acter.  These  names  she  kept,  and  one  other — the  Brave. 

We  grew  along  up,  in  that  plodding  and  peaceful  region, 
and  got  to  be  good-sized  boys  and  girls — big  enough,  in  fact, 
to  begin  to  know  as  much  about  the  wars  raging  perpetually 
to  the  west  and  north  of  us  as  our  elders,  and  also  to  feel  as 
stirred  up  over  the  occasional  news  from  those  red  fields  as 
they  did.  I  remember  certain  of  these  days  very  clearly.  One 
Tuesday  a  crowd  of  us  were  romping  and  singing  around  the 
Fairy  Tree,  and  hanging  garlands  on  it  in  memory  of  our  lost 
little  fairy  friends,  when  little  Mengette  cried  out : 

"Look!     What  is  that?" 

When  one  exclaims  like  that,  in  a  way  that  shows  astonish 
ment  and  apprehension,  he  gets  attention.  All  the  panting 
breasts  and  flushed  faces  flocked  together,  and  all  the  eager 
eyes  were  turned  in  one  direction — down  the  slope,  toward 
the  village. 


"  It's  a  black  flag." 

"  A  black  flag  !     No— is  it  ?" 

"  You  can  see  for  yourself  that  it  is  nothing  else." 

"  It  is  a  black  flag,  sure  !  Now,  has  any  ever  seen  the  like 
of  that  before  ?" 

"  What  can  it  mean  ?" 

"  Mean  ?     It  means  something  dreadful— what  else  ?" 

"That  is  nothing  to  the  point;  anybody  knows  that  with 
out  the  telling.  But  what? — that  is  the  question." 

"  It  is  a  chance  that  he  that  bears  it  can  answer  as  well  as 
any  that  are  here,  if  you  can  contain  yourself  till  he  come." 

"  He  runs  well.     Who  is  it  ?" 

Some  named  one,  some  another ;  but  presently  all  saw  that 
it  was  Etienne  Roze,  called  the  Sunflower,  because  he  had 
yellow  hair  and  a  round,  pock-marked  face.  His  ancestors 
had  been  Germans  some  centuries  ago.  He  came  straining 
up  the  slope,  now  and  then  projecting  his  flag-stick  aloft  and 
giving  his  black  symbol  of  woe  a  wave  in  the  air,  whilst  all 
eyes  watched  him,  all  tongues  discussed  him,  and  every  heart 
beat  faster  and  faster  with  impatience  to  know  his  news.  At 
last  he  sprang  among  us,  and  struck  his  flag-stick  into  the 
ground,  saying : 

"  There  !  Stand  there  and  represent  France  while  I  get 
my  breath.  She  needs  no  other  flag,  now." 

All  the  giddy  chatter  stopped.  It  was  as  if  one  had  an 
nounced  a  death.  In  that  chilly  hush  there  was  no  sound 
audible  but  the  panting  of  the  breath-blown  boy.  When  he 
was  presently  able  to  speak,  he  said  : 

"  Black  news  is  come.  A  treaty  has  been  made  at  Troyes 
between  France  and  the  English  and  Burgundians.  By  it 
France  is  betrayed  and  delivered  over,  tied  hand  and  foot,  to 
the  enemy.  It  is  the  work  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  and  that 
she-devil  the  Queen  of  France.  It  marries  Henry  of  England 
to  Catharine  of  France — " 

"  Is  not  this  a  lie  ?  Marries  the  daughter  of  France  to  the 
Butcher  of  Agincpurt  ?  It  is  not  to  be  believed.  You  have 
not  heard  aright." 


32 

"  If  you  cannot  believe  that,  Jacques  d'Arc,  then  you  have 
a  difficult  task  indeed  before  you,  for  worse  is  to  come.  Any 
child  that  is  born  of  that  marriage — if  even  a  girl — is  to  in 
herit  the  thrones  of  both  England  and  France,  and  this  double 
ownership  is  to  remain  with  its  posterity  forever !" 

"  Now  that  is  certainly  a  lie,  for  it  runs  counter  to  our  Salic 
law,  and  so  is  not  legal  and  cannot  have  effect,"  said  Echnond 
Aubrey,  called  the  Paladin,  because  of  the  armies  he  was  al 
ways  going  to  eat  up  some  day.  He  would  have  said  more, 
but  he  was  drowned  out  by  the  clamors  of  the  others,  who  all 
burst  into  a  fury  over  this  feature  of  the  treaty,  all  talking  at 
once  and  nobody  hearing  anybody,  until  presently  Haumette 
persuaded  them  to  be  still,  saying : 

"It  is  not  fair  to  break  him  up  so  in  his  tale  ;  pray  let  him 
go  on.  You  find  fault  with  his  history  because  it  seems  to  be 
lies.  That  were  reason  for  satisfaction — that  kind  of  lies — 
not  discontent.  Tell  the  rest,  Etienne." 

"  There  is  but  this  to  tell :  Our  King,  Charles  VI.,  is  to 
reign  until  he  dies,  then  Henry  V.  of  England  is  to  be 
Regent  of  France  until  a  child  of  his  shall  be  old  enough 
to—" 

"That  man  is  to  reign  over  us — the  Butcher?  It  is  lies! 
all  lies!"  cried  the  Paladin.  "Besides,  look  you  —  what 
becomes  of  our  Dauphin  ?  What  says  the  treaty  about 
him?" 

"  Nothing.  It  takes  away  his  throne  and  makes  him  an 
outcast." 

Then  everybody  shouted  at  once  and  said  the  news  was  a 
lie ;  and  all  began  to  get  cheerful  again,  saying,  "  Our  King 
would  have  to  sign  the  treaty  to  make  it  good  ;  and  that  he 
would  not  do,  seeing  how  it  serves  his  own  son." 

But  the  Sunflower  said :  "  I  will  ask  you  this  :  Would  the 
Queen  sign  a  treaty  disinheriting  her  son  ?" 

"That  viper?  Certainly.  Nobody  is  talking  of  her.  No 
body  expects  better  of  her.  There  is  no  villany  she  will 
stick  at,  if  it  feed  her  spite ;  and  she  hates  her  son.  Her 
signing  it  is  of  no  consequence.  The  King  must  sign." 


33 


"  I  will  ask  you  another  thing.  What  is  the  King's  con 
dition  ?  Mad,  isn't  he?" 

"  Yes,  and  his  people  love  him  all  the  more  for  it.  It 
brings  him  near  to  them  by  his  sufferings;  and  pitying  him 
makes  them  love  him." 

"  You  say  right,  Jacques  d'Arc.  Well,  what  would  you  of 
one  that  is  mad  ?  Does  he  know  what  he  does  ?  No.  Does 
he  do  what  others  make  him  do  ?  Yes.  Now,  then,  I  tell  you 
he  has  signed  the  treaty." 

"  Who  made  him  do  it  ?" 

"  You  know,  without  my  telling.     The  Queen." 

Then  there  was  another  uproar — everybody  talking  at  once, 
and  all  heaping  execrations  upon  the  Queen's  head.  Finally 
Jacques  d'Arc  said  : 

"But  many  reports  come  that  are  not  true.  Nothing  so 
shameful  as  this  has  ever  come  before,  nothing  that  cuts  so 
deep,  nothing  that  has  dragged  France  so  low  ;  therefore 
there  is  hope  that  this  tale  is  but  another  idle  rumor.  Where 
did  you  get  it?" 

The  color  went  out  of  his  sister  Joan's  face.  She  dreaded 
the  answer;  and  her  instinct  was  right. 

"  The  cure'  of  Maxey  brought  it." 

There  was  a  general  gasp.  We  knew  him,  you  see,  for  a 
trusty  man. 

"  Did  he  believe  it  ?" 

The  hearts  almost  stopped  beating.   Then  came  the  answer: 

"  He  did.    And  that  is  not  all.    He  said  he  knew  it  to  be  true." 

Some  of  the  girls  began  to  sob;  the  boys  were  struck  silent. 
The  distress  in  Joan's  face  was  like  that  which  one  sees  in 
the  face  of  a  dumb  animal  that  has  received  a  mortal  hurt. 
The  animal  bears  it,  making  no  complaint ;  she  bore  it  also, 
saying  no  word.  Her  brother  Jacques  put  his  hand  on  her 
head  and  caressed  her  hair  to  indicate  his  sympathy,  and  she 
gathered  the  hand  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it  for  thanks,  not 
saying  anything.  Presently  the  reaction  came,  and  the  boys 
began  to  talk.  Noel  Rainguesson  said  : 

"  Oh,  are  we  never  going  to  be  men  !     We  do  grow  along 

3 


34 

so  slowly,  and  France  never  needed  soldiers  as  she  needs 
them  now,  to  wipe  out  this  black  insult." 

"  I  hate  youth  !"  said  Pierre  Morel,  called  the  Dragon-fly 
because  his  eyes  stuck  out  so.  "  You've  always  got  to  wait, 
and  wait,  and  wait— and  here  are  the  great  wars  wasting  away 
for  a  hundred  years,  and  you  never  get  a  chance.  If  I  could 
only  be  a  soldier  now  !" 

"As  for  me,  I'm  not  going  to  wait  much  longer,"  said  the 
Paladin  ;  "and  when  I  do  start  you'll  hear  from  me,  I  prom 
ise  you  that.  There  are  some  who,  in  storming  a  castle,  pre 
fer  to  be  in  the  rear ;  but  as  for  me,  give  me  the  front  or 
none ;  I  will  have  none  in  front  of  me  but  the  officers." 

Even  the  girls  got  the  war  spirit,  and  Marie  Dupont  said — 

"I  would  I  were  a  man;  I  would  start  this  minute!"  and 
looked  very  proud  of  herself,  and  glanced  about  for  ap 
plause. 

"  So  would  I,"  said  Cecile  Letellier,  sniffing  the  air  like  a 
war-horse  that  smells  the  battle ;  "  I  warrant  you  I  would 
not  turn  back  from  the  field  though  all  England  were  in  front 
of  me." 

"  Pooh  !"  said  the  Paladin  ;  "girls  can  brag,  but  that's  all 
they  are  good  for.  Let  a  thousand  of  them  come  face  to  face 
with  a  handful  of  soldiers  once,  if  you  want  to  see  what  run 
ning  is  like.  Here's  little  Joan — next  she'll  be  threatening  to 
go  for  a  soldier  !" 

The  idea  was  so  funny,  and  got  such  a  good  laugh,  that 
the  Paladin  gave  it  another  trial,  and  said  :  "  Why,  you  can 
just  see  her ! — see  her  plunge  into  battle  like  any  old  veteran. 
Yes,  indeed;  and  not  a  poor  shabby  common  soldier  like  us, 
but  an  officer — an  officer,  mind  you,  with  armor  on,  and  the 
bars  of  a  steel  helmet  to  blush  behind  and  hide  her  embarrass 
ment  when  she  finds  an  army  in  front  of  her  that  she  hasn't 
been  introduced  to.  An  officer?  Why,  she'll  be  a  captain! 
A  captain,  I  tell  you,  with  a  hundred  men  at  her  back — or 
maybe  girls.  Oh,  no  common-soldier  business  for  her  !  And, 
dear  me,  when  she  starts  for  that  other  army,  you'll  think 
there's  a  hurricane  blowing  it  away!" 


35 

Well,  he  kept  it  up  like  that  till  he  made  their  sides  ache 
with  laughing  •  which  was  quite  natural,  for  certainly  it  was  a 
very  funny  idea — at  that  time — I  mean,  the  idea  of  that  gentle 
little  creature,  that  wouldn't  hurt  a  fly,  and  couldn't  bear  the 
sight  of  blood,  and  was  so  girlish  and  shrinking  in  all  ways, 
rushing  into  battle  with  a  gang  of  soldiers  at  her  back.  Poor 
thing,  she  sat  there  confused  and  ashamed  to  be  so  laughed 
at;  and  yet  at  that  very  minute  there  was  something  about  to 
happen  which  would  change  the  aspect  of  things,  and  make 
those  young  people  see  that  when  it  comes  to  laughing,  the 
person  that  laughs  last  has  the  best  chance.  For  just  then  a 
face  which  we  all  knew  and  all  feared  projected  itself  from 
behind  the  Fairy  Tree,  and  the  thought  that  shot  through  us 
all  was,  crazy  Benoist  has  gotten  loose  from  his  cage,  and  we 
are  as  good  as  dead  !  This  ragged  and  hairy  and  horrible 
creature  glided  out  from  behind  the  tree,  and  raised  an  axe  as 
he  came.  We  all  broke  and  fled,  this  way  and  that,  the  girls 
screaming  and  crying.  No,  not  all ;  all  but  Joan.  She  stood 
up  and  faced  the  man,  and  remained  so.  As  we  reached  the 
wood  that  borders  the  grassy  clearing  and  jumped  into  its 
shelter,  two  or  three  of  us  glanced  back  to  see  if  Benoist  was 
gaining  on  us,  and  that  is  what  we  saw — Joan  standing,  and 
the  maniac  gliding  stealthily  toward  her  with  his  axe  lifted. 
The  sight  was  sickening.  We  stood  where  we  were,  trembling 
and  not  able  to  move.  I  did  not  want  to  see  the  murder 
done,  and  yet  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  away.  Now  I  saw 
Joan  step  forward  to  meet  the  man,  though  I  believed  my  eyes 
must  be  deceiving  me.  Then  I  saw  him  stop.  He  threatened 
her  with  his  axe,  as  if  to  warn  her  not  to  come  further,  but  she 
paid  no  heed,  but  went  steadily  on,  until  she  was  right  in 
front  of  him — right  under  his  axe.  Then  she  stopped,  and 
seemed  to  begin  to  talk  with  him.  It  made  me  sick,  yes, 
giddy,  and  everything  swam  around  me,  and  I  could  not  see 
anything  for  a  time — whether  long  or  brief  I  do  not  know. 
When  this  passed  and  I  looked  again,  Joan  was  walking  by 
the  man's  side  toward  the  village,  holding  him  by  his  hand. 
The  axe  was  in  her  other  hand. 


36 

One  by  one  the  boys  and  girls  crept  out,  and  we  stood  there 
gazing,  open-mouthed,  till  those  two  entered  the  village  and 
were  hid  from  sight.  It  was  then  that  we  named  her  the  Brave. 

We  left  the  black  flag  there  to  continue  its  mournful  office, 
for  we  had  other  matter  to  think  of  now.  We  started  for  the 
village  on  a  run,  to  give  warning,  and  get  Joan  out  of  her 
peril;  though  for  one,  after  seeing  what  I  had  seen,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  while  Joan  had  the  axe  the  man's  chance  was  not 
the  best  of  the  two.  When  we  arrived  the  danger  was  past, 
the  madman  was  in  custody.  All  the  people  were  flocking 
to  the  little  square  in  front  of  the  church  to  talk  and  exclaim 
and  wonder  over  the  event,  and  it  even  made  the  town  forget 
the  black  news  of  the  treaty  for  two  or  three  hours. 

All  the  women  kept  hugging  and  kissing  Joan,  and  praising 
her,  and  crying,  and  the  men  patted  her  on  the  head  and  said 
they  wished  she  was  a  man,  they  would  send  her  to  the  wars 
and  never  doubt  but  that  she  would  strike  some  blows  that 
would  be  heard  of.  She  had  to  tear  herself  away  and  go  and 
hide,  this  glory  was  so  trying  to  her  diffidence. 

Of  course  the  people  began  to  ask  us  for  the  particulars. 
I  was  so  ashamed  that  I  made  an  excuse  to  the  first  comer, 
and  got  privately  away  and  went  back  to  the  Fairy  Tree,  to 
get  relief  from  the  embarrassment  of  those  questionings. 
There  I  found  Joan,  but  she  was  there  to  get  relief  from  the 
embarrassment  of  glory.  One  by  one  the  others  shirked  the 
inquirers  and  joined  us  in  our  refuge.  Then  we  gathered 
around  Joan,  and  asked  her  how  she  had  dared  to  do  that 
thing.  She  was  very  modest  about  it,  and  said  : 

"  You  make  a  great  thing  of  it,  but  you  mistake ;  it  was  not 
a  great  matter.  It  was  not  as  if  I  had  been  a  stranger  to  the 
man.  I  know  him,  and  have  known  him  long  ;  and  he  knows 
me,  and  likes  me.  I  have  fed  him  through  the  bars  of  his  cage 
many  times  ;  and  last  December  when  they  chopped  off  two 
of  his  fingers  to  remind  him  to  stop  seizing  and  wounding 
people  passing  by,  I  dressed  his  hand  every  day  till  it  was 
well  again." 

"  That  is  all  well  enough,"  said  Little  Mengette,  "  but  he  is 


37 

a  madman,  dear,  and  so  his  likings  and  his  gratitude  and 
friendliness  go  for  nothing  when  his  rage  is  up.  You  did  a 
perilous  thing." 

"  Of  course  you  did,"  said  the  Sunflower.  "  Didn't  he 
threaten  to  kill  you  with  the  axe  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"Didn't  he  threaten  you  more  than  once?" 

"Yes." 

"  Didn't  you  feel  afraid  ?" 

"  No — at  least  not  much — very  little." 

"  Why  didn't  you  ?" 

She  thought  a  moment,  then  said,  quite  simply — 

"  I  don't  know." 

It  made  everybody  laugh.  Then  the  Sunflower  said  it  was 
like  a  lamb  trying  to  think  out  how  it  had  come  to  eat  a  wolf, 
but  had  to  give  it  up. 

Cecile  Letellier  asked,  "  Why  didn't  you  run  when  we  did  ?" 

"  Because  it  was  necessary  to  get  him  to  his  cage ;  else  he 
would  kill  some  one.  Then  he  would  come  to  the  like  harm 
himself." 

It  is  noticeable  that  this  remark,  which  implies  that  Joan 
was  entirely  forgetful  of  herself  and  her  own  danger,  and  had 
thought  and  wrought  for  the  preservation  of  other  people 
alone,  was  not  challenged,  or  criticised,  or  commented  upon 
by  anybody  there,  but  was  taken  by  all  as  matter  of  course 
and  true.  It  shows  how  clearly  her  character  was  defined, 
and  how  well  it  was  known  and  established. 

There  was  silence  for  a  time,  and  perhaps  we  were  all  think 
ing  of  the  same  thing — namely,  what  a  poor  figure  we  had  cut 
in  that  adventure  as  contrasted  with  Joan's  performance.  I 
tried  to  think  up  some  good  way  of  explaining  why  I  had  run 
away  and  left  a  little  girl  at  the  mercy  of  a  maniac  armed  with 
an  axe,  but  all  of  the  explanations  that  offered  themselves  to 
me  seemed  so  cheap  and  shabby  that  I  gave  the  matter  up  and 
remained  still.  But  others  were  less  wise.  Noel  Raingues- 
son  fidgeted  a  while,  then  broke  out  with  a  remark  which 
showed  what  his  mind  had  been  running  on  : 


38 

"  The  fact  is,  I  was  taken  by  surprise.  That  is  the  reason. 
If  I  had  had  a  moment  to  think,  I  would  no  more  have  thought 
of  running  than  I  would  think  of  running  from  a  baby.  For, 
after  all,  what  is  The'ophile  Benoist,  that  I  should  seem  to  be 
afraid  of  him  ?  Pooh  !  the  idea  of  being  afraid  of  that  poor 
thing!  I  only  wish  he  would  come  along  now — I'd  show  you  !" 

"  So  do  I !"  cried  Pierre  Morel.  "  If  I  wouldn't  make  him 
climb  this  tree  quicker  than — well,  you'd  see  what  I  would  do ! 
Taking  a  person  by  surprise,  that  way — why,  I  never  meant  to 
run ;  not  in  earnest,  I  mean.  I  never  thought  of  running  in 
earnest ;  I  only  wanted  to  have  some  fun,  and  when  I  saw 
Joan  standing  there,  and  him  threatening  her,  it  was  all  I  could 
do  to  restrain  myself  from  going  there  and  just  tearing  the 
livers  and  lights  out  of  him.  I  wanted  to  do  it  bad  enough, 
and  if  it  was  to  do  over  again,  I  would !  If  ever  he  comes 
fooling  around  me  again,  I'll — " 

"  Oh,  hush !"  said  the  Paladin,  breaking  in  with  an  air  of 
disdain  ;  "  the  way  you  people  talk,  a  person  would  think 
there's  something  heroic  about  standing  up  and  facing  down 
that  poor  remnant  of  a  man.  Why,  it's  nothing !  There's 
small  glory  to  be  got  in  facing  him  down,  I  should  say.  Why, 
I  wouldn't  want  any  better  fun  than  to  face  down  a  hundred 
like  him.  If  he  was  to  come  along  here  now,  I  would  walk  up 
to  him  just  as  I  am  now — I  wouldn't  care  if  he  had  a  thousand 
axes — and  say — " 

And  so  he  went  on  and  on,  telling  the  brave  things  he  would 
say  and  the  wonders  he  would  do ;  and  the  others  put  in  a 
word  from  time  to  time,  describing  over  again  the  gory  mar 
vels  they  would  do  if  ever  that  madman  ventured  to  cross 
their  path  again,  for  next  time  they  would  be  ready  for  him, 
and  would  soon  teach  him  that  if  he  thought  he  could  sur 
prise  them  twice  because  he  had  surprised  them  once,  he 
would  find  himself  very  seriously  mjstaken,  that's  all. 

And  so,  in  the  end,  they  all  got  back  their  self  -  respect ; 
yes,  and  even  added  somewhat  to  it ;  indeed,  when  the  sitting 
broke  up  they  had  a  finer  opinion  of  themselves  than  they 
had  ever  had  before. 


CHAPTER  V 

THEY  were  peaceful  and  pleasant,  those  young  and  smooth 
ly  flowing  days  of  ours ;  that  is,  that  was  the  case  as  a  rule, 
we  being  remote  from  the  seat  of  war,  but  at  intervals  roving 
bands  approached  near  enough  for  us  to  see  the  flush  in  the 
sky  at  night  which  marked  where  they  were  burning  some 
farmstead  or  village,  and  we  all  knew,  or  at  least  felt,  that 
some  day  they  would  come  yet  nearer,  and  we  should  have 
our  turn.  This  dull  dread  lay  upon  out  spirits  like  a  physical 
weight.  It  was  greatly  augmented  a  couple  of  years  after  the 
Treaty  of  Troyes. 

It  was  truly  a  dismal  year  for  France.  One  day  we  had 
been  over  to  have  one  of  our  occasional  pitched  battles  with 
those  hated  Burgundian  boys  of  the  village  of  Maxey,  and 
had  been  whipped,  and  were  arriving  on  our  side  of  the  river 
after  dark,  bruised  and  weary,  when  we  heard  the  bell  ring 
ing  the  tocsin.  We  ran  all  the  way,  and  when  we  got  to  the 
square  we  found  it  crowded  with  the  excited  villagers,  and 
weirdly  lighted  by  smoking  and  flaring  torches. 

On  the  steps  of  the  church  stood  a  stranger,  a  Burgundian 
priest,  who  was  telling  the  people  news  which  made  them  weep, 
and  rave,  and  rage,  and  curse,  by  turns.  He  said  our  old  mad 
King  was  dead,  and  that  now  we  and  France  and  the  crown 
were  the  property  of  an  English  baby  lying  in  his  cradle  in 
London.  And  he  urged  us  to  give  that  child  our  allegiance, 
and  be  its  faithful  servants  and  well-wishers ;  and  said  we 
should  now  have  a  strong  and  stable  government  at  last, 
and  that  in  a  little  time  the  English  armies  would  start  on 
their  last  march,  and  it  would  be  a  brief  one,  for  all  that  it 
would  need  to  do  would  be  to  conquer  what  odds  and  ends 


of  our  country  yet  remained  under  that  rare  and  almost  for 
gotten  rag,  the  banner  of  France. 

The  people  stormed  and  raged  at  him,  and  you  could  see 
dozens  of  them  stretch  their  fists  above  the  sea  of  torch- 
lighted  faces  and  shake  them  at  him  ;  and  it  was  all  a  wild 
picture,  and  stirring  to  look  at ;  and  the  priest  was  a  first-rate 
part  of  it,  too,  for  he  stood  there  in  the  strong  glare  and 
looked  down  on  those  angry  people  in  the  blandest  and  most 
indifferent  way,  so  that  while  you  wanted  to  burn  him  at  the 
stake,  you  still  admired  the  aggravating  coolness  of  him.  And 
his  winding  up  was  the  coolest  thing  of  all.  For  he  told  them 
how,  at  the  funeral  of  our  old  King,  the  French  King-at- 
Arms  had  broken  his  staff  of  office  over  the  coffin  of  "  Charles 
VI.  and  his  dynasty,"  at  the  same  time  saying,  in  a  loud 
voice,  "  God  grant  long  life  to  Henry,  King  of  France  and 
England,  our  sovereign  lord  !"  and  then  he  asked  them  to 
join  him  in  a  hearty  Amen  to  that ! 

The  people  were  white  with  wrath,  and  it  tied  their  tongues 
for  the  moment,  and  they  could  not  speak.  But  Joan  was 
standing  close  by,  and  she  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  said  in 
her  sober,  earnest  way — 

"  I  would  I  might  see  thy  head  struck  from  thy  body  !" — 
then,  after  a  pause,  and  crossing  herself — "  if  it  were  the  will 
of  God." 

This  is  worth  remembering,  and  I  will  tell  you  why:  it  is 
the  only  harsh  speech  Joan  ever  uttered  in  her  life.  When  I 
shall  have  revealed  to  you  the  storms  she  went  through,  and 
the  wrongs  and  persecutions,  then  you  will  see  that  it  was 
wonderful  that  she  said  but  one  bitter  thing  while  she  lived. 

From  the  day  that  that  dreary  news  came  we  had  one  scare 
after  another,  the  marauders  coming  almost  to  our  doors 
every  now  and  then ;  so  that  we  lived  in  ever-increasing  ap 
prehension,  and  yet  were  somehow  mercifully  spared  from  act 
ual  attack.  But  at  last  our  turn  did  really  come.  This  was 
in  the  spring  of  '28.  The  Burgundians  swarmed  in  with  a 
great  noise,  in  the  middle  of  a  dark  night,  and  we  had  to  jump 
up  and  fly  for  our  lives.  We  took  the  road  to  Neufchateau, 


and  rushed  along  in  the  wildest  disorder,  everybody  trying  to 
get  ahead,  and  thus  the  movements  of  all  were  impeded  ;  but 
Joan  had  a  cool  head — the  only  cool  head  there — and  she 
took  command  and  brought  order  out  of  that  chaos.  She  did 
her  work  quickly  and  with  decision  and  despatch,  and  soon 
turned  the  panic  flight  into  a  quite  steady-going  march.  You 
will  grant  that  for  so  young  a  person,  and  a  girl  at  that,  this 
was  a  good  piece  of  work. 

She-was  sixteen  now,  shapely  and  graceful,  and  of  a  beauty 
so  extraordinary  that  I  might  allow  myself  any  extravagance 
of  language  in  describing  it  and  yet  have  no  fear  of  going  be 
yond  the  truth.  There  was  in  her  face  a  sweetness  and  se 
renity  and  purity  that  justly  reflected  her  spiritual  nature. 
She  was  deeply  religious,  and  this  is  a  thing  which  sometimes 
gives  a  melancholy  cast  to  a  person's  countenance,  but  it  was 
not  so  in  her  case.  Her  religion  made  her  inwardly  content 
and  joyous ;  and  if  she  was  troubled  at  times,  and  showed 
the  pain  of  it  in  her  face  and  bearing,  it  came  of  distress  for 
her  country;  no  part  of  it  was  chargeable  to  her  religion. 

A  considerable  part  of  our  village  was  destroyed,  and  when 
it  became  safe  for  us  to  venture  back  there  we  realized  what 
other  people  had  been  suffering  in  all  the  various  quarters 
of  France  for  many  years — yes,  decades  of  years.  For  the 
first  time  we  saw  wrecked  and  smoke-blackened  homes,  and 
in  the  lanes  and  alleys  carcasses  of  dumb  creatures  that  had 
been  slaughtered  in  pure  wantonness — among  them  calves 
and  lambs  that  had  been  pets  of  the  children  ;  and  it  was 
pity  to  see  the  children  lament  over  them. 

And  then,  the  taxes,  the  taxes  !  Everybody  thought  of 
that.  That  burden  would  fall  heavy,  now,  in  the  commune's 
crippled  condition,  and  all  faces  grew  long  with  the  thought 
of  it.  Joan  said — 

"  Paying  taxes  with  naught  to  pay  them  with  is  what  the 
rest  of  France  has  been  doing  these  many  years,  but  we 
never  knew  the  bitterness  of  that  before.  We  shall  know  it 
now." 

And  so  she  went  on  talking  about  it  and  growing  more 


and  more  troubled  about  it,  until  one  could  see  that  it  was 
filling  all  her  mind. 

At  last  we  came  upon  a  dreadful  object.  It  was  the  mad 
man —  hacked  and  stabbed  to  death  in  his  iron  cage  in  the 
corner  of  the  square.  It  was  a  bloody  and  dreadful  sight. 
Hardly  any  of  us  young  people  had  ever  seen  a  man  before 
who  had  lost  his  life  by  violence  ;  so  this  cadaver  had  an  awful 
fascination  for  us  ;  we  could  not  take  our  eyes  from  it.  I  mean, 
it  had  that  sort  of  fascination  for  all  of  us  but  one.  That 
one  was  Joan.  She  turned  away  in  horror,  and  could  not  be 
persuaded  to  go  near  it  again.  There — it  is  a  striking  re 
minder  that  we  are  but  creatures  of  use  and  custom ;  yes,  and 
it  is  a  reminder,  too,  of  how  harshly  and  unfairly  fate  deals  with 
us  sometimes.  For  it  was  so  ordered  that  the  very  ones  among 
us  who  were  most  fascinated  with  mutilated  and  bloody 
death  were  to  live  their  lives  in  peace,  while  that  other,  who 
had  a  native  and  deep  horror  of  it,  must  presently  go  forth 
and  have  it  as  a  familiar  spectacle  every  day  on  the  field  of 
battle. 

You  may  well  believe  that  we  had  plenty  of  matter  for 
talk,  now,  since  the  raiding  of  our  village  seemed  by  long 
odds  the  greatest  event  that  had  really  ever  occurred  in  the 
world ;  for  although  these  dull  peasants  may  have  thought 
they  recognized  the  bigness  of  some  of  the  previous  occur 
rences  that  had  filtered  from  the  world's  history  dimly  into 
their  minds,  the  truth  is  that  they  hadn't.  One  biting  little 
fact,  visible  to  their  eyes  of  flesh  and  felt  in  their  own  personal 
vitals,  became  at  once  more  prodigious  to  them  than  the  grand 
est  remote  episode  in  the  world's  history  which  they  had  got 
at  second-hand  and  by  hearsay.  It  amuses  me  now  when  I 
recall  how  our  elders  talked  then.  They  fumed  and  fretted 
in  a  fine  fashion. 

"  Ah  yes,"  said  old  Jacques  d'Arc,  "  things  are  come  to  a 
pretty  pass  indeed  !  The  King  must  be  informed  of  this. 
It  is  time  that  he  cease  from  idleness  and  dreaming,  and 
get  at  his  proper  business."  He  meant  our  young  disinherited 
King,  the  hunted  refugee,  Charles  VII. 


/   I 


IN    THE    FOREST 


43 


"  You  say  well,"  said  the  maire.  "  He  should  be  informed, 
and  that  at  once.  It  is  an  outrage  that  such  things  should 
be  permitted.  Why,  we  are  not  safe  in  our  beds,  and  he  tak 
ing  his  ease  yonder.  It  shall  be  made  known,  indeed  it 
shall— all  France  shall  hear  of  it !" 

To  hear  them  talk,  one  would  have  imagined  that  all  the 
previous  ten  thousand  sackings  and  burnings  in  France  had 
been  but  fables,  and  this  one  the  only  fact.  It  is  always 
the  way :  words  will  answer  as  long  as  it  is  only  a  person's 
neighbor  who  is  in  trouble,  but  when  that  person  gets  into 
trouble  himself,  it  is  time  that  the  King  rise  up  and  do  some 
thing. 

The  big  event  filled  us  young  people  with  talk,  too.  We 
let  it  flow  in  a  steady  stream  while  we  tended  the  flocks. 
We  were  beginning  to  feel  pretty  important,  now,  for  I  was 
eighteen  and  the  other  youths  were  from  one  to  four  years 
older — young  men,  in  fact.  One  day  the  Paladin  was  arro 
gantly  criticising  the  patriot  generals  of  France  and  said — 

"  Look  at  Dunois,  Bastard  of  Orleans — call  him  a  general ! 
Just  put  me  in  his  place  once — never  mind  what  I  would 
do,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say,  I  have  no  stomach  for  talk,  my 
way  is  to  act  and  let  others  do  the  talking — but  just  put  me 
in  his  place  once,  that's  all !  And  look  at  Saintrailles — 
pooh !  and  that  blustering  La  Hire,  now  what  a  general 
that  is !" 

It  shocked  everybody  to  hear  these  great  names  so  flip 
pantly  handled,  for  to  us  these  renowned  soldiers  were  almost 
gods.  In  their  far-off  splendor  they  rose  upon  our  imagi 
nations  dim  and  huge,  shadowy  and  awful,  and  it  was  a  fearful 
thing  to  hear  them  spoken  of  as  if  they  were  mere  men,  and 
their  acts  open  to  comment  and  criticism.  The  color  rose  in 
Joan's  face,  and  she  said — 

"  I  know  not  how  any  can  be  so  hardy  as  to  use  such 
words  regarding  these  sublime  men,  who  are  the  very  pillars 
of  the  French  State,  supporting  it  with  their  strength  and 
preserving  it  at  daily  cost  of  their  blood.  As  for  me,  I  could 
count  myself  honored  past  all  deserving  if  I  might  be  al- 


44 

lowed  but  the  privilege  of  looking  upon  them  once  —  at  a 
distance,  I  mean,  for  it  would  not  become  one  of  my  degree 
to  approach  them  too  near." 

The  Paladin  was  disconcerted  for  a  moment,  seeing  by 
the  faces  around  him  that  Joan  had  put  into  words  what  the 
others  felt,  then  he  pulled  his  complacency  together  and  fell 
to  fault-finding  again.  Joan's  brother  Jean  said — 

"  If  you  don't  like  what  our  generals  do,  why  don't  you  go 
to  the  great  wars  yourself  and  better  their  work  ?  You  are 
always  talking  about  going  to  the  wars,  but  you  don't  go." 

"  Look  you,"  said  the  Paladin,  "  it  is  easy  to  say  that.  Now 
I  will  tell  you  why  I  remain  charing  here  in  a  bloodless  tran 
quillity  which  my  reputation  teaches  you  is  repulsive  to  my 
nature.  I  do  not  go  because  I  am  not  a  gentleman.  That  is 
the  whole  reason.  What  can  one  private  soldier  do  in  a  con 
test  like  this  ?  Nothing.  He  is  not  permitted  to  rise  from 
the  ranks.  If  I  were  a  gentleman  would  I  remain  here  ? 
Not  one  moment.  I  can  save  France — ah,  you  may  laugh, 
but  I  know  what  is  in  me,  I  know  what  is  hid  under  this 
peasant  cap.  I  can  save  France,  and  I  stand  ready  to  do  it, 
but  not  under  these  present  conditions.  If  they  want  me,  let 
them  send  for  me  ;  otherwise,  let  them  take  the  consequences; 
I  shall  not  budge  but  as  an  officer." 

"Alas, poor  France — France  is  lost!"  said  Pierre  d'Arc. 

"  Since  you  sniff  so  at  others,  why  don't  you  go  to  the  wars 
yourself,  Pierre  d'Arc  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  been  sent  for,  either.  I  am  no  more  a  gen 
tleman  than  you.  Yet  I  will  go  ;  I  promise  to  go.  I  promise 
to  go  as  a  private  under  your  orders — when  you  are  sent  for." 

They  all  laughed,  and  the  Dragon-fly  said — 

"  So  soon  ?  Then  you  need  to  begin  to  get  ready ;  you 
might  be  called  for  in  five  years — who  knows  ?  Yes,  in  my 
opinion  you'll  march  for  the  wars  in  five  years." 

"  He  will  go  sooner,"  said  Joan.  She  said  it  in  a  low  voice 
and  musingly,  but  several  heard  it. 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  Joan  ?"  said  the  Dragon-fly,  with 
a  surprised  look.  But  Jean  d'Arc  broke  in  and  said— 


45 


"I  want  to  go  myself,  but  as  I  am  rather  young  yet,  I  also 
will  wait,  and  march  when  the  Paladin  is  sent  for." 

"  No,"  said  Joan,  "  he  will  go  with  Pierre." 

She  said  it  as  one  who  talks  to  himself  aloud  without  know 
ing  it,  and  none  heard  it  but  me.  I  glanced  at  her  and  saw 
that  her  knitting-needles  were  idle  in  her  hands,  and  that  her 
face  had  a  dreamy  and  absent  look  in  it.  There  were  fleeting 
movements  of  her  lips  as  if  she  might  be  occasionally  saying 
parts  of  sentences  to  herself.  But  there  was  no  sound,  for  I 
was  the  nearest  person  to  her  and  I  heard  nothing.  But  I 
set  my  ears  open,  for  those  two  speeches  had  affected  me  un 
cannily,  I  being  superstitious  and  easily  troubled  by  any  little 
thing  of  a  strange  and  unusual  sort. 

Noel  Rainguesson  said— 

"  There  is  one  way  to  let  France  have  a  chance  for  her  sal 
vation.  We've  got  one  gentleman  in  the  commune,  at  any  rate. 
Why  can't  the  Scholar  change  name  and  condition  with  the 
Paladin  ?  Then  he  can  be  an  officer.  France  will  send  for 
him  then,  and  he  will  sweep  these  English  and  Burgundian 
armies  into  the  sea  like  flies." 

I  was  the  Scholar.  That  was  my  nickname,  because  I  could 
read  and  write.  There  was  a  chorus  of  approval,  and  the 
Sunflower  said — 

"  That  is  the  very  thing — it  settles  every  difficulty.  The 
Sieur  de  Conte  will  easily  agree  to  that.  Yes,  he  will  march 
at  the  back  of  Captain  Paladin  and  die  early,  covered  with 
common-soldier  glory." 

"  He  will  march  with  Jean  and  Pierre,  and  live  till  these 
wars  are  forgotten,"  Joan  muttered ;  "  and  at  the  eleventh 
hour  Noel  and  the  Paladin  will  join  these,  but  not  of  their 
own  desire."  The  voice  was  so  low  that  I  was  not  perfectly 
sure  that  these  were  the  words,  but  they  seemed  to  be.  It 
makes  one  feel  creepy  to  hear  such  things. 

"  Come,  now,"  Noel  continued,  "  it's  all  arranged ;  there's 
nothing  to  do  but  organize  under  the  Paladin's  banner  and 
go  forth  and  rescue  France.  You'll  all  join  ?" 

All  said  yes,  except  Jacques  d'Arc,  who  said — 


46 


"  I'll  ask  you  to  excuse  me.  It  is  pleasant  to  talk  war,  and 
I  am  with  you  there,  and  I've  always  thought  I  should  go  sol 
diering  about  this  time,  but  the  look  of  our  wrecked  village 
and  that  carved-up  and  bloody  madman  have  taught  me  that 
I  am  not  made  for  such  work  and  such  sights.  I  could  never 
be  at  home  in  that  trade.  Face  swords  and  the  big  guns 
and  death  ?  It  isn't  in  me.  No,  no ;  count  me  out.  And  be 
sides,  I'm  the  eldest  son,  and  deputy  prop  and  protector  of 
the  family.  Since  you  are  going  to  carry  Jean  and  Pierre  to 
the  wars,  somebody  must  be  left  behind  to  take  care  of  our 
Joan  and  her  sister.  I  shall  stay  at  home,  and  grow  old  in 
peace  and  tranquillity." 

"  He  will  stay  at  home,  but  not  grow  old,"  murmured  Joan. 

The  talk  rattled  on  in  the  gay  and  careless  fashion  privileged 
to  youth,  and  we  got  the  Paladin  to  map  out  his  campaigns 
and  fight  his  battles  and  win  his  victories  and  extinguish  the 
English  and  put  our  King  upon  his  throne  and  set  his  crown 
upon  his  head.  Then  we  asked  him  what  he  was  going  to 
answer  when  the  King  should  require  him  to  name  his  reward. 
The  Paladin  had  it  all  arranged  in  his  head,  and  brought  it  out 
promptly : 

"  He  shall  give  me  a  dukedom,  name  me  premier  peer,  and 
make  me  Hereditary  Lord  High  Constable  of  France." 

"And  marry  you  to  a  princess — you're  not  going  to  leave 
that  out,  are  you  ?" 

The  Paladin  colored  a  trifle,  and  said,  brusquely— 

"  He  may  keep  his  princesses — I  can  marry  more  to  my 
taste." 

Meaning  Joan,  though  nobody  suspected  it  at  that  time. 
If  any  had,  the  Paladin  would  have  been  finely  ridiculed  for 
his  vanity.  There  was  no  fit  mate  in  that  village  for  Joan  of 
Arc.  Every  one  would  have  said  that. 

In  turn,  each  person  present  was  required  to  say  what  re 
ward  he  would  demand  of  the  King  if  he  could  change  places 
with  the  Paladin  and  do  the  wonders  the  Paladin  was  going 
to  do.  The  answers  were  given  in  fun,  and  each  of  us  tried 
to  outdo  his  predecessors  in  the  extravagance  of  the  reward 


47 


he  would  claim;  but  when  it  came  to  Joan's  turn  and  they 
rallied  her  out  of  her  dreams  and  asked  her  to  testify,  they 
had  to  explain  to  her  what  the  question  was,  for  her  thought 
had  been  absent,  and  she  had  heard  none  of  this  latter  part  of 
our  talk.  She  supposed  they  wanted  a  serious  answer,  and 
she  gave  it.  She  sat  considering  some  moments,  then  she 
said — 

"  If  the  Dauphin  out  of  his  grace  and  nobleness  should  say 
to  me,  'Now  that  I  am  rich  and  am  come  to  my  own  again, 
choose  and  have,'  I  should  kneel  and  ask  him  to  give  com 
mand  that  our  village  should  nevermore  be  taxed." 

It  was  so  simple  and  out  of  her  heart  that  it  touched  us 
and  we  did  not  laugh,  but  fell  to  thinking.  We  did  not  laugh  ; 
but  there  came  a  day  when  we  remembered  that  speech  with 
a  mournful  pride,  and  were  glad  that  we  had  not  laughed, 
perceiving  then  how  honest  her  words  had  been,  and  seeing 
how  faithfully  she  made  them  good  when  the  time  came,  ask 
ing  just  that  boon  of  the  King  and  refusing  to  take  even  any 
least  thing  for  herself. 


CHAPTER   VI 

ALL  through  her  childhood  and  up  to  the  middle  of  her 
fourteenth  year,  Joan  had  been  the  most  light-hearted  creat 
ure  and  the  merriest  in  the  village,  with  a  hop-skip-and-jump 
gait  and  a  happy  and  catching  laugh  ;  and  this  disposition, 
supplemented  by  her  warm  and  sympathetic  nature  and  frank 
and  winning  ways,  had  made  her  everybody's  pet.  She  had 
been  a  hot  patriot  all  this  time,  and  sometimes  the  war  news 
had  sobered  her  spirits  and  wrung  her  heart  and  made  her 
acquainted  with  tears,  but  always  when  these  interruptions 
had  run  their  course  her  spirits  rose  and  she  was  her  old  self 
again. 

But  now  for  a  whole  year  and  a  half  she  had  been  mainly 
grave ;  not  melancholy,  but  given  to  thought,  abstraction, 
dreams.  She  was  carrying  France  upon  her  heart,  and  she 
found  the  burden  not  light.  I  knew  that  this  was  her  trouble, 
but  others  attributed  her  abstraction  to  religious  ecstasy,  for 
she  did  not  share  her  thinkings  with  the  village  at  large,  yet 
gave  me  glimpses  of  them,  and  so  I  knew,  better  than  the 
rest,  what  was  absorbing  her  interest.  Many  a  time  the  idea 
crossed  my  mind  that  she  had  a  secret — a  secret  which  she 
was  keeping  wholly  to  herself,  as  well  from  me  as  from  the 
others.  This  idea  had  come  to  me  because  several  times  she 
had  cut  a  sentence  in  two  and  changed  the  subject  when  ap 
parently  she  was  on  the  verge  of  a  revelation  of  some  sort. 
I  was  to  find  this  secret  out,  but  not  just  yet. 

The  day  after  the  conversation  which  I  have  been  report 
ing  we  were  together  in  the  pastures  and  fell  to  talking  about 
France,  as  usual.  For  her  sake  I  had  always  talked  hope 
fully  before,  but  that  was  mere  lying,  for  really  there  was  not 


49 

anything  to  hang  a  rag  of  hope  for  France  upon.  Now  it 
was  such  a  pain  to  lie  to  her,  and  cost  me  such  shame  to 
offer  this  treachery  to  one  so  snow-pure  from  lying  and  treach 
ery,  and  even  from  suspicion  of  such  basenesses  in  others,  as 
she  was,  that  I  was  resolved  to  face  about,  now,  and  begin 
over  again,  and  never  insult  her  more  with  deception.  I  started 
on  the  new  policy  by  saying — still  opening  up  with  a  small  lie, 
of  course,  for  habit  is  habit,  and  not  to  be  flung  out  of  the  win 
dow  by  any  man,  but  coaxed  down-stairs  a  step  at  a  time — 

"  Joan,  I  have  been  thinking  the  thing  all  over,  last  night, 
and  have  concluded  that  we  have  been  in  the  wrong  all  this 
time ;  that  the  case  of  France  is  desperate ;  that  it  has  been 
desperate  ever  since  Agincourt ;  and  that  to-day  it  is  more 
than  desperate,  it  is  hopeless." 

I  did  not  look  her  in  the  face  while  I  was  saying  it ;  it 
could  not  be  expected  of  a  person.  To  break  her  heart,  to 
crush  her  hope  with  a  so  frankly  brutal  speech  as  that,  with 
out  one  charitable  soft  place  in  it — it  seemed  a  shameful 
thing,  and  it  was.  But  when  it  was  out,  the  weight  gone,  and 
my  conscience  rising  to  the  surface,  I  glanced  at  her  face  to 
see  the  result. 

There  was  none  to  see.  At  least  none  that  I  was  expect 
ing.  There  was  a  barely  perceptible  suggestion  of  wonder  in 
her  serious  eyes,  but  that  was  all ;  and  she  said,  in  her  simple 
and  placid  way — 

"  The  case  of  France  hopeless  ?  Why  should  you  think 
that  ?  Tell  me." 

It  is  a  most  pleasant  thing  to  find  that  what  you  thought 
would  inflict  a  hurt  upon  one  whom  you  honor,  has  not  done 
it.  I  was  relieved,  now,  and  could  say  all  my  say  without  any 
furtivenesses  and  without  embarrassment.  So  I  began  : 

"Let  us  put  sentiment  and  patriotic  illusions  aside,  and 
look  the  facts  in  the  face.  What  do  they  say  ?  They  speak 
as  plainly  as  the  figures  in  a  merchant's  account-book.  One 
has  only  to  add  the  two  columns  up  to  see  that  the  French 
house  is  bankrupt,  that  one-half  of  its  property  is  already  in 
the  English  sheriff's  hands  and  the  other  half  in  nobody's  — 


except  those  of  irresponsible  raiders  and  robbers  confessing 
allegiance  to  nobody.  Our  King  is  shut  up  with  his  favorites 
and  fools  in  inglorious  idleness  and  poverty  in  a  narrow  little 
patch  of  the  kingdom — a  sort  of  back  lot,  as  one  may  say — 
and  has  no  authority  there  or  anywhere  else,  hasn't  a  farthing 
to  his  name,  nor  a  regiment  of  soldiers :  he  is  not  fighting,  he 
is  not  intending  to  fight,  he  means  to  make  no  further  resist 
ance  ;  in  truth  there  is  but  one  thing  that  he  is  intending  to 
do — give  the  whole  thing  up,  pitch  his  crown  into  the  sewer, 
and  run  away  to  Scotland.  There  are  the  facts.  Are  they 
correct  ?" 

"Yes,  they  are  correct." 

"  Then  it  is  as  I  have  said  :  one  needs  but  to  add  them  to 
gether  in  order  to  realize  what  they  mean." 

She  asked,  in  an  ordinary,  level  tone — 

"  What — that  the  case  of  France  is  hopeless  ?" 

"  Necessarily.  In  face  of  these  facts,  doubt  of  it  is  im 
possible." 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ?     How  can  you  feel  like  that  ?" 

"  How  can  I  ?  How  could  I  think  or  feel  in  any  other 
way,  in  the  circumstances  ?  Joan,  with  these  fatal  figures 
before  you,  have  you  really  any  hope  for  France — really  and 
actually  ?" 

"  Hope — oh,  more  than  that !  France  will  win  her  freedom 
and  keep  it.  Do  not  doubt  it." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  her  clear  intellect  must  surely  be 
clouded  to-day.  It  must  be  so,  or  she  would  see  that  those 
figures  could  mean  only  the  one  thing.  Perhaps  if  I  mar 
shalled  them  again  she  would  see.  So  I  said  : 

"Joan,  your  heart,  which  worships  France,  is  beguiling  your 
head.  You  are  not  perceiving  the  importance  of  these  figures. 
Here — I  want  to  make  a  picture  of  them,  here  on  the  ground 
with  a  stick.  Now,  this  rough  outline  is  France.  Through 
its  middle,  east  and  west,  I  draw  a  river." 

"Yes;  the  Loire." 

"  Now,  then,  this  whole  northern  half  of  the  country  is  in 
the  tight  grip  of  the  English." 


"Yes." 

"  And  this  whole  southern  half  is  really  in  nobody's  hands 
at  all — as  our  King  confesses  by  meditating  desertion  and 
flight  to  a  foreign  land.  England  has  armies  here;  opposi 
tion  is  dead;  she  can  assume  full  possession  whenever  she 
may  choose.  In  very  truth,  all  France  is  gone,  France  is  al 
ready  lost,  France  has  ceased  to  exist.  What  was  France  is 
now  but  a  British  province.  Is  this  true  ?" 

Her  voice  was  low,  and  just  touched  with  emotion,  but  dis 
tinct  : 

"Yes,  it  is  true." 

"Very  well.  Now  add  this  clinching  fact,  and  surely  the 
sum  is  complete  :  When  have  French  soldiers  won  a  victory  ? 
Scotch  soldiers,  under  the  French  flag,  have  won  a  barren 
fight  or  two  a  few  years  back,  but  I  am  speaking  of  French 
ones.  Since  eight  thousand  Englishmen  nearly  annihilated 
sixty  thousand  Frenchmen  a  dozen  years  ago  at  Agincourt, 
French  courage  has  been  paralyzed.  And  so  it  is  a  common 
saying,  to-day,  that  if  you  confront  fifty  French  soldiers  with 
five  English  ones,  the  French  will  run." 

"  It  is  a  pity,  but  even  these  things  are  true." 

"  Then  certainly  the  day  for  hoping  is  past" 

I  believed  the  case  would  be  clear  to  her  now.  I  thought 
it  could  not  fail  to  be  clear  to  her,  and  that  she  would  say, 
herself,  that  there  was  no  longer  any  ground  for  hope.  But  I 
was  mistaken ;  and  disappointed  also.  She  said,  without  any 
doubt  in  her  tone  : 

"  France  will  rise  again.     You  shall  see." 

"  Rise  ?— with  this  burden  of  English  armies  on  her  back  !" 

"  She  will  cast  it  off;  she  will  trample  it  under  foot !"  This 
with  spirit. 

"  Without  soldiers  to  fight  with  ?" 

"  The  drums  will  summon  them.  They  will  answer,  and 
they  will  march." 

"  March  to  the  rear,  as  usual  ?" 

"  No  ;  to  the  front — ever  to  the  front — always  to  the  front ! 
You  shall  see." 


"  And  the  pauper  King  ?'' 

"  He  will  mount  his  throne— he  will  wear  his  crown." 

"  Well,  of  a  truth  this  makes  one's  head  dizzy.  Why,  if  I 
could  believe  that  in  thirty  years  from  now  the  English  domi 
nation  would  be  broken  and  the  French  monarch's  head  find 
itself  hooped  with  a  real  crown  of  sovereignty — " 

"  Both  will  have  happened  before  two  years  are  sped." 

"  Indeed  ?  and  who  is  going  to  perform  all  these  sublime 
impossibilities?" 

"God." 

It  was  a  reverent  low  note,  but  it  rang  clear. 

What  could  have  put  those  strange  ideas  in  her  head  ? 
This  question  kept  running  in  my  mind  during  two  or  three 
days.  It  was  inevitable  that  I  should  think  of  madness. 
What  other  way  was  there  to  account  for  such  things  ? 
Grieving  and  brooding  over  the  woes  of  France  had  weak 
ened  that  strong  mind,  and  filled  it  with  fantastic  phantoms — 
yes,  that  must  be  it. 

But  I  watched  her,  and  tested  her,  and  it  was  not  so.  Her 
eye  was  clear  and  sane,  her  ways  were  natural,  her  speech  di 
rect  and  to  the  point.  No,  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with 
her  mind;  it  was  still  the  soundest  in  the  village  and  the  best. 
She  went  on  thinking  for  others,  planning  for  others,  sacrific 
ing  herself  for  others,  just  as  always  before.  She  went  on 
ministering  to  her  sick  and  to  her  poor,  and  still  stood  ready 
to  give  the  wayfarer  her  bed  and  content  herself  with  the 
floor.  There  was  a  secret  somewhere,  but  madness  was  not 
the  key  to  it.  This  was  plain. 

Now  the  key  did  presently  come  into  my  hands,  and 
the  way  that  it  happened  was  this.  You  have  heard  all 
the  world  talk  of  this  matter  which  I  am  about  to  speak 
of,  but  you  have  not  heard  an  eye-witness  talk  of  it  be 
fore. 

I  was  coming  from  over  the  ridge,  one  day — it  was  the  i5th 
of  May,  '28— and  when  I  got  to  the  edge  of  the  oak  forest 
and  was  about  to  step  out  of  it  upon  the  turfy  open  space  in 


53 

which  the  haunted  beech-tree  stood,  I  happened  to  cast  a 
glance  from  cover,  first — then  I  took  a  step  backward,  and 
stood  in  the  shelter  and  concealment  of  the  foliage.  For  I 
had  caught  sight  of  Joan,  and  thought  I  would  devise  some 
sort  of  playful  surprise  for  her.  Think  of  it — that  trivial  con 
ceit  was  neighbor,  with  but  a  scarcely  measurable  interval  of 
time  between,  to  an  event  destined  to  endure  forever  in  his 
tories  and  songs. 

The  day  was  overcast,  and  all  that  grassy  space  wherein  the 
Tree  stood  lay  in  a  soft  rich  shadow.  Joan  sat  on  a  natural 
seat  formed  by  gnarled  great  roots  of  the  Tree.  Her  hands 
lay  loosely,  one  reposing  in  the  other,  in  her  lap.  Her  head 
was  bent  a  little  toward  the  ground,  and  her  air  was  that  of 
one  who  is  lost  in  thought,  steeped  in  dreams,  and  not  con 
scious  of  herself  or  of  the  world.  And  now  I  saw  a  most 
strange  thing,  for  I  saw  a  white  shadow  come  slowly  gliding 
along  the  grass  toward  the  Tree.  It  was  of  grand  proportions 
— a  robed  form,  with  wings — and  the  whiteness  of  this  shadow 
was  not  like  any  other  whiteness  that  we  know  of,  except 
it  be  the  whiteness  of  the  lightnings,  but  even  the  light 
nings  are  not  so  intense  as  it  was,  for  one  can  look  at  them 
without  hurt,  whereas  this  brilliancy  was  so  blinding  that  it 
pained  my  eyes  and  brought  the  water  into  them.  I  uncov 
ered  my  head,  perceiving  that  I  was  in  the  presence  of  some 
thing  not  of  this  world.  My  breath  grew  faint  and  difficult, 
because  of  the  terror  and  the  awe  that  possessed  me. 

Another  strange  thing.  The  wood  had  been  silent — smit 
ten  with  that  deep  stillness  which  comes  when  a  storm-cloud 
darkens  a  forest,  and  the  wild  creatures  lose  heart  and  are 
afraid ;  but  now  all  the  birds  burst  forth  in  song,  and  the  joy, 
the  rapture,  the  ecstasy  of  it  was  beyond  belief;  and  was  so 
eloquent  and  so  moving,  withal,  that  it  was  plain  it  was  an 
act  of  worship.  With  the  first  note  of  those  birds  Joan  cast 
herself  upon  her  knees,  and  bent  her  head  low  and  crossed 
her  hands  upon  her  breast. 

She  had  not  seen  the  shadow  yet.  Had  the  song  of  the 
birds  told  her  it  was  coming?  It  had  that  look  to  me. 


54 

Then  the  like  of  this  must  have  happened  before.  Yes,  there 
might  be  no  doubt  of  that. 

The  shadow  approached  Joan  slowly ;  the  extremity  of  it 
reached  her,  flowed  over  her,  clothed  her  in  its  awful 
splendor.  In  that  immortal  light  her  face,  only  humanly 
beautiful  before,  became  divine ;  flooded  with  that  transform 
ing  glory  her  mean  peasant  habit  was  become  like  to  the 
raiment  of  the  sun-clothed  children  of  God  as  we  see  them 
thronging  the  terraces  of  the  Throne  in  our  dreams  and  imag 
inings. 

Presently  she  rose  and  stood,  with  her  head  still  bowed  a 
little,  and  with  her  arms  down  and  the  ends  of  her  fingers 
lightly  laced  together  in  front  of  her ;  and  standing  so,  all 
drenched  with  that  wonderful  light,  and  yet  apparently  not 
knowing  it,  she  seemed  to  listen — but  I  heard  nothing.  After 
a  little  she  raised  her  head,  and  looked  up  as  one  might  look 
up  toward  the  face  of  a  giant,  and  then  clasped  her  hands 
and  lifted  them  high,  imploringly,  and  began  to  plead.  I 
heard  some  of  the  words.  I  heard  her  say — 

"  But  I  am  so  young !  oh,  so  young  to  leave  my  mother  and 
my  home,  and  go  out  into  the  strange  world  to  undertake  a 
thing  so  great !  Ah,  how  can  I  talk  with  men,  be  comrade 
with  men  ? — soldiers  !  It  would  give  me  over  to  insult,  and 
rude  usage,  and  contempt.  How  can  I  go  to  the  great  wars, 
and  lead  armies  ? — I  a  girl,  and  ignorant  of  such  things,  know 
ing  nothing  of  arms,  nor  how  to  mount  a  horse,  nor  ride 
it.  ...  Yet — if  it  is  commanded — 

Her  voice  sank  a  little,  and  was  broken  by  sobs,  and  I 
made  out  no  more  of  her  words.  Then  I  came  to  myself.  I 
reflected  that  I  had  been  intruding  upon  a  mystery  of  God — 
and  what  might  my  punishment  be  ?  I  was  afraid,  and  went 
deeper  into  the  wood.  Then  I  carved  a  mark  in  the  bark  of 
a  tree,  saying  to  myself,  it  may  be  that  I  am  dreaming  and 
have  not  seen  this  vision  at  all.  I  will  come  again,  when  I 
know  that  I  am  awake  and  not  dreaming,  and  see  if  this 
mark  is  still  here ;  then  I  shall  know. 


CHAPTER  VII 

I  HEARD  my  name  called.  It  was  Joan's  voice.  It  startled 
me,  for  how  could  she  know  I  was  there  ?  I  said  to  myself,  it 
is  part  of  the  dream;  it  is  all  dream — voice,  vision  and  all;  the 
fairies  have  done  this.  So  I  crossed  myself  and  pronounced 
the  name  of  God,  to  break  the  enchantment.  I  knew  I  was 
awake  now  and  free  from  the  spell,  for  no  spell  can  withstand 
this  exorcism.  Then  I  heard  my  name  called  again,  and  I 
stepped  at  once  from  under  cover,  and  there  indeed  was  Joan, 
but  not  looking  as  she  had  looked  in  the  dream.  For  she  was 
not  crying,  now,  but  was  looking  as  she  had  used  to  look  a 
year  and  a  half  before,  when  her  heart  was  light  and  her 
spirits  high.  Her  old-time  energy  and  fire  were  back,  and  a 
something  like  exaltation  showed  itself  in  her  face  and  bear 
ing.  It  was  almost  as  if  she  had  been  in  a  trance  all  that 
time  and  had  come  awake  again.  Really,  it  was  just  as  if  she 
had  been  away  and  lost,  and  was  come  back  to  us  at  last ; 
and  I  was  so  glad  that  I  felt  like  running  to  call  everybody 
and  have  them  flock  around  her  and  give  her  welcome.  I 
ran  to  her  excited,  and  said — 

"Ah,  Joan,  I've  got  such  a  wonderful  thing  to  tell  you 
about !  You  would  never  imagine  it.  I've  had  a  dream,  and 
in  the  dream  I  saw  you  right  here  where  you  are  standing 
now,  and — " 

But  she  put  up  her  hand  and  said — 

"It  was  not  a  dream." 

It  gave  me  a  shock,  and  I  began  to  feel  afraid  again. 

"  Not  a  dream  ?"  I  said,  "  how  can  you  know  about  it, 
Joan  ?" 

"  Are  you  dreaming  now  ?" 


56 

"I — I  suppose  not.     I  think  I  am  not." 

"  Indeed  you  are  not.  I  know  you  are  not.  And  you  were 
not  dreaming  when  you  cut  the  mark  in  the  tree." 

I  felt  myself  turning  cold  with  fright,  for  now  I  knew  of  a 
certainty  that  I  had  not  been  dreaming,  but  had  really  been 
in  the  presence  of  a  dread  something  not  of  this  world.  Then 
I  remembered  that  my  sinful  feet  were  upon  holy  ground — 
the  ground  where  that  celestial  shadow  had  rested.  I  moved 
quickly  away,  smitten  to  the  bones  with  fear.  Joan  followed, 
and  said — 

"  Do  not  be  afraid  ;  indeed  there  is  no  need.  Come  with 
me.  We  will  sit  by  the  spring  and  I  will  tell  you  all  my  se 
cret." 

When  she  was  ready  to  begin,  I  checked  her  and  said — 

"First  tell  me  this.  You  could  not  see  me  in  the  wood; 
how  did  you  know  I  cut  a  mark  in  the  tree  ?" 

"Wait  a  little;  I  will  soon  come  to  that;  then  you  will 
see." 

"But  tell  me  one  thing  now;  what  was  that  awful  shadow 
that  I  saw  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  but  do  not  be  disturbed ;  you  are  not  in 
danger.  It  was  the  shadow  of  an  archangel — Michael,  the 
chief  and  lord  of  the  armies  of  heaven." 

I  could  but  cross  myself  and  tremble  for  having  polluted 
that  ground  with  my  feet. 

"  You  were  not  afraid,  Joan  ?  Did  you  see  his  face— did  you 
see  his  form  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  was  not  afraid,  because  this  was  not  the  first  time. 
I  was  afraid  the  first  time." 

"  When  was  that,  Joan  ?" 

"  It  is  nearly  three  years  ago,  now." 

"  So  long?     Have  you  seen  him  many  times  ?" 

"Yes,  many  times." 

"  It  is  this,  then,  that  has  changed  you  ;  it  was  this  that 
made  you  thoughtful  and  not  as  you  were  before.  I  see  it 
now.  Why  did  you  not  tell  us  about  it  ?" 

"It  was  not  permitted.     It  is  permitted  now,  and  soon  I 


57 

shall  tell  all.  But  only  you,  now.  It  must  remain  a  secret  a 
few  days  still." 

"Has  none  seen  that  white  shadow  before  but  me?" 

"  No  one.  It  has  fallen  upon  me  before  when  you  and 
others  were  present,  but  none  could  see  it.  To-day  it  has  been 
otherwise,  and  I  was  told  why;  but  it  will  not  be  visible  again 
to  any." 

"It  was  a  sign  to  me,  then — and  a  sign  with  a  meaning  of 
some  kind  ?" 

"Yes,  but  I  may  not  speak  of  that." 

"  Strange — that  that  dazzling  light  could  rest  upon  an  ob 
ject  before  one's  eyes  and  not  be  visible." 

"  With  it  comes  speech,  also.  Several  saints  come,  attended 
by  myriads  of  angels,  and  they  speak  to  me  ;  I  hear  their 
voices,  but  others  do  not.  They  are  very  dear  to  me — my 
Voices ;  that  is  what  I  call  them  to  myself." 

"Joan,  what  do  they  tell  you  ?" 

"All  manner  of  things — about  France  I  mean." 

"  What  things  have  they  been  used  to  tell  you  ?" 

She  sighed,  and  said — 

"  Disasters — only  disasters,  and  misfortunes,  and  humilia 
tions.  There  was  naught  else  to  foretell." 

"  They  spoke  of  them  to  you  beforehand?" 

"  Yes.  So  that  I  knew  what  was  going  to  happen  before  it 
happened.  It  made  me  grave — as  you  saw.  It  could  not  be 
otherwise.  But  always  there  was  a  word  of  hope,  too.  More 
than  that :  France  was  to  be  rescued,  and  made  great  and 
free  again.  But  how  and  by  whom — that  was  not  told.  Not 
until  to-day."  As  she  said  those  last  words  a  sudden  deep 
glow  shone  in  her  eyes,  which  I  was  to  see  there  many  times 
in  after-days  when  the  bugles  sounded  the  charge  and  learn 
to  call  it  the  battle-light.  Her  breast  heaved,  and  the  color 
rose  in  her  face.  "But  to-day  I  know.  God  has  chosen  the 
meanest  of  His  creatures  for  this  work  ;  and  by  His  command, 
and  in  His  protection,  and  by  His  strength,  not  mine,  I  am  to 
lead  His  armies,  and  win  back  France,  and  set  the  crown  upon 
the  head  of  His  servant  that  is  Dauphin  and  shall  be  King." 


58 

I  was  amazed,  and  said— 

"  You,  Joan  ?     You,  a  child,  lead  armies  ?" 

"Yes.  For  one  little  moment  or  two  the  thought  crushed 
me  ;  for  it  is  as  you  say — I  am  only  a  child  ;  a  child  and  igno 
rant — ignorant  of  everything  that  pertains  to  war,  and  not  fit 
ted  for  the  rough  life  of  camps  and  the  companionship  of  sol 
diers.  But  those  weak  moments  passed ;  they  will  not  come 
again.  I  am  enlisted,  I  will  not  turn  back,  God  helping  me, 
till  the  English  grip  is  loosed  from  the  throat  of  France.  My 
Voices  have  never  told  me  lies,  they  have  not  lied  to-day. 
They  say  I  am  to  go  to  Robert  de  Baudricourt,  governor  of 
Vaucouleurs,  and  he  will  give  me  men-at-arms  for  escort  and 
send  me  to  the  King.  A  year  from  now  a  blow  will  be  struck 
which  will  be  the  beginning  of  the  end,  and  the  end  will  fol 
low  swiftly." 

"  Where  will  it  be  struck  ?" 

"  My  Voices  have  not  said ;  nor  what  will  happen  this  pres 
ent  year,  before  it  is  struck.  It  is  appointed  me  to  strike  it, 
that  is  all  I  know ;  and  follow  it  with  others,  sharp  and  swift, 
undoing  in  ten  weeks  England's  long  years  of  costly  labor,. and 
setting  the  crown  upon  the  Dauphin's  head — for  such  is  God's 
will ;  my  Voices  have  said  it,  and  shall  I  doubt  it  ?  No  ;  it  will 
be  as  they  have  said,  for  they  say  only  that  which  is  true." 

These  were  tremendous  sayings.  They  were  impossibili 
ties  to  my  reason,  but  to  my  heart  they  rang  true  ;  and  so, 
while  my  reason  doubted,  my  heart  believed — believed,  and 
held  fast  to  its  belief  from  that  day.  Presently  I  said — 

"  Joan,  I  believe  the  things  which  you  have  said,  and  now  I 
am  glad  that  I  am  to  march  with  you  to  the  great  wars — that 
is,  if  it  is  with  you  I  am  to  march  when  I  go." 

She  looked  surprised,  and  said — 

"  It  is  true  that  you  will  be  with  me  when  I  go  to  the  wars, 
but  how  did  you  know?" 

"  I  shall  march  with  you,  and  so  also  will  Jean  and  Pierre, 
but  not  Jacques." 

"  All  true — it  is  so  ordered,  as  was  revealed  to  me  lately, 
but  I  did  not  know  until  to-day  that  the  marching  would  be 


59 


with  me,  or  that  I  should  march  at  all.     How  did  you  know 
these  things  ?" 

I  told  her  when  it  was  that  she  had  said  them.  But  she 
did  not  remember  about  it.  So  then  I  knew  that  she  had 
been  asleep,  or  in  a  trance  or  an  ecstasy  of  some  kind,  at  that 
time.  She  bade  me  keep  these  and  the  other  revelations  to 
myself  for  the  present,  and  I  said  I  would,  and  kept  the 
faith  I  promised. 

None  who  met  Joan  that  day  failed  to  notice  the  change 
that  had  come  over  her.  She  moved  and  spoke  with  energy 
and  decision  ;  there  was  a  strange  new  fire  in  her  eye,  and 
also  a  something  wholly  new  and  remarkable  in  her  carriage 
and  in  the  set  of  her  head.  This  new  light  in  the  eye  and 
this  new  bearing  were  born  of  the  authority  and  leadership 
which  had  this  day  been  vested  in  her  by  the  decree  of  God, 
and  they  asserted  that  authority  as  plainly  as  speech  could 
have  done  it,  yet  without  ostentation  or  bravado.  This  calm 
consciousness  of  command,  and  calm  unconscious  outward 
expression  of  it,  remained  with  her  thenceforth  until  her  mis 
sion  was  accomplished. 

Like  the  other  villagers,  she  had  always  accorded  me  the 
deference  due  my  rank ;  but  now,  without  word  said  on  either 
side,  she  and  I  changed  places ;  she  gave  orders,  not  sug 
gestions,  I  received  them  with  the  deference  due  a  superior, 
and  obeyed  them  without  comment.  In  the  evening  she 
said  to  me — 

"  I  leave  before  dawn.  No  one  will  know  it  but  you.  I  go 
to  speak  with  the  governor  of  Vaucouleurs  as  commanded, 
who  will  despise  me  and  treat  me  rudely,  and  perhaps  refuse  my 
prayer  at  this  time.  I  go  first  to  Burey,  to  persuade  my  uncle 
Laxart  to  go  with  me,  it  not  being  meet  that  I  go  alone.  I 
may  need  you  in  Vaucouleurs ;  for  if  the  governor  will  not 
receive  me  I  will  dictate  a  letter  to  him,  and  so  must  have 
some  one  by  me  who  knows  the  art  of  how  to  write  and  spell 
the  words.  You  will  go  from  here  to  -  morrow  in  the  after 
noon,  and  remain  in  Vaucouleurs  until  I  need  you." 


6o 


I  said  I  would  obey,  and  she  went  her  way.  You  see  how 
clear  a  head  she  had,  and  what  a  just  and  level  judgment. 
She  did  not  order  me  to  go  with  her  ;  no,  she  would  not  sub 
ject  her  good  name  to  gossiping  remark.  She  knew  that  the 
governor,  being  a  noble,  would  grant  me,  another  noble,  au 
dience;  but  no,  you  see,  she  would  not  have  that,  either.  A 
poor  peasant  girl  presenting  a  petition  through  a  young  no 
bleman —  how  would  that  look?  She  always  protected  her 
modesty  from  hurt ;  and  so,  for  reward,  she  carried  her  good 
name  unsmirched  to  the  end.  I  knew  what  I  must  do,  now, 
if  I  would  have  her  approval :  go  to  Vaucouleurs,  keep  out 
of  her  sight,  and  be  ready  when  wanted. 

I  went  the  next  afternoon,  and  took  an  obscure  lodging; 
the  next  day  I  called  at  the  castle  and  paid  my  respects  to  the 
governor,  who  invited  me  to  dine  with  him  at  noon  of  the  fol 
lowing  day.  He  was  an  ideal  soldier  of  the  time  ;  tall,  brawny, 
gray-headed,  rough,  full  of  strange  oaths  acquired  here  and 
there  and  yonder  in  the  wars  and  treasured  as  if  they  were 
decorations.  He  had  been  used  to  the  camp  all  his  life, 
and  to  his  notion  war  was  God's  best  gift  to  man.  He  had 
his  steel  cuirass  on,  and  wore  boots  that  came  above  his 
knees,  and  was  equipped  with  a  huge  sword  ;  and  when  I 
looked  at  this  martial  figure,  and  heard  the  marvellous  oaths, 
and  guessed  how  little  of  poetry  and  sentiment  might  be 
looked  for  in  this  quarter,  I  hoped  the  little  peasant  girl  would 
not  get  the  privilege  of  confronting  this  battery,  but  would 
have  to  content  herself  with  the  dictated  letter. 

I  came  again  to  the  castle  the  next  day  at  noon,  and  was 
conducted  to  the  great  dining-hall  and  seated  by  the  side  of 
the  governor  at  a  small  table  which  was  raised  a  couple  of 
steps  higher  than  the  general  table.  At  the  small  table  sat 
several  other  guests  besides  myself,  and  at  the  general  table 
sat  the  chief  officers  of  the  garrison.  At  the  entrance  door 
stood  a  guard  of  halberdiers,  in  morion  and  breastplate. 

As  for  talk,  there  wa1^  but  one  topic,  of  course — the  des 
perate  situation  of  France.  There  was  a  rumor,  some  one 
said,  that  Salisbury  was  making  preparations  to  march 


6i 


against  Orleans.  It  raised  a  turmoil  of  excited  conversation, 
and  opinions  fell  thick  and  fast.  Some  believed  he  would 
inarch  at  once,  others  that  he  could  not  accomplish  the  in 
vestment  before  fall,  others  that  the  siege  would  be  long,  and 
bravely  contested  ;  but  upon  one  thing  all  voices  agreed  :  that 
Orleans  must  eventually  fall,  and  with  it  France.  With  that, 
the  prolonged  discussion  ended,  and  there  was  silence.  Ev 
ery  man  seemed  to  sink  himself  in  his  own  thoughts,  and  to 
forget  where  he  was.  This  sudden  and  profound  stillness 
where  before  had  been  so  much  animation,  was  impressive 
and  solemn.  Now  came  a  servant  and  whispered  something 
to  the  governor,  who  said — 

"Would  talk  with  me?" 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency." 

"  H'm  !     A  strange  idea,  certainly.     Bring  them  in." 

It  was  Joan  and  her  uncle  Laxart.  At  the  spectacle  of 
the  great  people  the  courage  oozed  out  of  the  poor  old  peas 
ant  and  he  stopped  midway  and  would  come  no  further,  but 
remained  there  with  his  red  nightcap  crushed  in  his  hands 
and  bowing  humbly  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  stupefied 
with  embarrassment  and  fear.  But  Joan  came  steadily  for 
ward,  erect  and  self-possessed,  and  stood  before  the  governor. 
She  recognized  me,  but  in  no  way  indicated  it.  There  was 
a  buzz  of  admiration,  even  the  governor  contributing  to  it, 
for  I  heard  him  mutter,  "By  God's  grace,  it  is  a  beautiful 
creature !"  He  inspected  her  critically  a  moment  or  two, 
then  said — 

"  Well,  what  is  your  errand,  my  child  ?" 

"  My  message  is  to  you,  Robert  de  Baudricourt,  governor 
of  Vaucouleurs,  and  it  is  this :  that  you  will  send  and  tell  the 
Dauphin  to  wait  and  not  give  battle  to  his  enemies,  for  God 
will  presently  send  him  help." 

This  strange  speech  amazed  the  company,  and  many  mur 
mured,  "  The  poor  young  thing  is  demented."  The  governor 
scowled,  and  said — 

"What  nonsense  is  this?  The  King — or  the  Dauphin,  as 
you  call  him — needs  no  message  of  that  sort.  He  will  wait, 


62 


give  yourself  no  uneasiness  as  to  that.  What  further  do  you 
desire  to  say  to  me  ?" 

"  This.  To  beg  that  you  will  give  me  an  escort  of  men-at- 
arms  and  send  me  to  the  Dauphin." 

"What  for?" 

"  That  he  may  make  me  his  general,  for  it  is  appointed  that 
I  shall  drive  the  English  out  of  France,  and  set  the  crown 
upon  his  head." 

"  What— you  ?     Why,  you  are  but  a  child  !" 

"Yet  am  I  appointed  to  do  it,  nevertheless." 

"  Indeed  ?     And  when  will  all  this  happen  ?" 

"  Next  year  he  will  be  crowned,  and  after  will  remain  mas 
ter  of  France." 

There  was  a  great  and  general  burst  of  laughter,  and  when 
it  had  subsided  the  governor  said — 

"  Who  has  sent  you  with  these  extravagant  messages  ?" 

"  My  Lord." 

"  What  Lord  ?" 

"The  King  of  Heaven." 

Many  murmured,  "Ah,  poor  thing,  poor  thing  !"  and  others, 
"  Ah,  her  mind  is  but  a  wreck  !"  The  governor  hailed  Laxart, 
and  said — 

"  Harkye  ! — take  this  mad  child  home  and  whip  her  soundly. 
That  is  the  best  cure  for  her  ailment." 

As  Joan  was  moving  away  she  turned  and  said,  with  sim 
plicity— 

"  You  refuse  me  the  soldiers,  I  know  not  why,  for  it  is 
my  Lord  that  has  commanded  you.  Yes,  it  is  He  that  has 
made  the  command ;  therefore  must  I  come  again,  and  yet 
again ;  then  I  shall  have  the  men-at-arms." 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  wondering  talk,  after  she  was 
gone ;  and  the  guards  and  servants  passed  the  talk  to  the 
town,  the  town  passed  it  to  the  country ;  Domremy  was  al 
ready  buzzing  with  it  when  we  got  back. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HUMAN  nature  is  the  same  everywhere :  it  deifies  success, 
it  has  nothing  but  scorn  for  defeat.  The  village  considered 
that  Joan  had  disgraced  it  with  her  grotesque  performance 
and  its  ridiculous  failure ;  so  all  the  tongues  were  busy  with 
the  matter,  and  as  bilious  and  bitter  as  they  were  busy ;  in 
somuch  that  if  the  tongues  had  been  teeth  she  would  not  have 
survived  her  persecutions.  Those  persons  who  did  not  scold, 
did  what  was  worse  and  harder  to  bear ;  for  they  ridiculed 
her,  and  mocked  at  her,  and  ceased  neither  day  nor  night  from 
their  witticisms  and  jeerings  and  laughter.  Haumette  and 
Little  Mengette  and  I  stood  by  her,  but  the  storm  was  too 
strong  for  her  other  friends,  and  they  avoided  her,  being 
ashamed  to  be  seen  with  her  because  she  was  so  unpopular, 
and  because  of  the  sting  of  the  taunts  that  assailed  them  on 
her  account.  She  shed  tears  in  secret,  but  none  in  public. 
In  public  she  carried  herself  with  serenity,  and  showed  no 
distress,  nor  any  resentment  —  conduct  which  should  have 
softened  the  feeling  against  her,  but  it  did  not.  Her  father, 
was  so  incensed  that  he  could  not  talk  in  measured  terms 
about  her  wild  project  of  going  to  the  wars  like  a  man.  He 
had  dreamed  of  her  doing  such  a  thing,  some  time  before,  and 
now  he  remembered  that  dream  with  apprehension  and  anger, 
and  said  that  rather  than  see  her  unsex  herself  and  go  away 
with  the  armies,  he  would  require  her  brothers  to  drown  her ; 
and  that  if  they  should  refuse,  he  would  do  it  with  his  own 
hands. 

But  none  of  these  things  shook  her  purpose  in  the  least. 
Her  parents  kept  a  strict  watch  upon  her  to  keep  her  from 
leaving  the  village,  but  she  said  her  time  was  not  yet  j  that 


64 

when  the  time  to  go  was  come  she  should  know  it,  and  then 
the  keepers  would  watch  in  vain. 

The  summer  wasted  along ;  and  when  it  was  seen  that  her 
purpose  continued  steadfast,  the  parents  were  glad  of  a  chance 
which  finally  offered  itself  for  bringing  her  projects  to  an  end 
through  marriage.  The  Paladin  had  the  effrontery  to  pretend 
that  she  had  engaged  herself  to  him  several  years  before,  and 
now  he  claimed  a  ratification  of  the  engagement. 

She  said  his  statement  was  not  true,  and  refused  to  marry 
him.  She  was  cited  to  appear  before  the  ecclesiastical  court 
at  Toul  to  answer  for  her  perversity ;  when  she  declined  to 
have  counsel,  and  elected  to  conduct  her  case  herself,  her  par 
ents  and  all  her  ill-wishers  rejoiced,  and  looked  upon  her  as 
already  defeated.  And  that  was  natural  enough ;  for  who 
would  expect  that  an  ignorant  peasant  girl  of  sixteen  would 
be  otherwise  than  frightened  and  tongue-tied  when  standing 
for  the  first  time  in  presence  of  the  practised  doctors  of  the 
law,  and  surrounded  by  the  cold  solemnities  of  a  court  ?  Yet 
all  these  people  were  mistaken.  They  flocked  to  Toul  to  see 
and  enjoy  this  fright  and  embarrassment  and  defeat,  and  they 
had  their  trouble  for  their  pains.  She  was  modest,  tranquil, 
and  quite  at  her  ease.  She  called  no  witnesses,  saying  she 
would  content  herself  with  examining  the  witnesses  for  the 
prosecution.  When  they  had  testified,  she  rose  and  reviewed 
their  testimony  in  a  few  words,  pronounced  it  vague,  confused, 
and  of  no  force,  then  she  placed  the  Paladin  again  on  the 
stand  and  began  to  search  him.  His  previous  testimony  went 
rag  by  rag  to  ruin  under  her  ingenious  hands,  until  at  last  he 
stood  bare,  so  to  speak,  he  that  had  come  so  richly  clothed  in 
fraud  and  falsehood.  His  counsel  began  an  argument,  but 
the  court  declined  to  hear  it,  and  threw  out  the  case,  adding 
a  few  words  of  grave  compliment  for  Joan,  and  referring  to 
her  as  "this  marvellous  child." 

After  this  victory,  with  this  high  praise  from  so  imposing  a 
source  added,  the  fickle  village  turned  again,  and  gave  Joan 
countenance,  compliment,  and  peace.  Her  mother  took  her 
back  to  her  heart,  and  even  her  father  relented  and  said  he 


65 

was  proud  of  her.  But  the  time  hung  heavy  on  her  hands, 
nevertheless,  for  the  siege  of  Orleans  was  begun,  the  clouds 
lowered  darker  and  darker  over  France,  and  still  her  Voices 
said  wait,  and  gave  her  no  direct  commands.  The  winter  set 
in,  and  wore  tediously  along ;  but  at  last  there  was  a  change. 


Boofe  HIT 


IN   COURT   AND   CAMP 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  5th  of  January,  1429,  Joan  came  to  me  with  her  uncle 
Laxart,  and  said — 

"  The  time  is  come.  My  Voices  are  not  vague,  now,  but 
clear,  and  they  have  told  me  what  to  do.  In  two  months  I 
shall  be  with  the  Dauphin." 

Her  spirits  were  high,  and  her  bearing  martial.  I  caught 
the  infection  and  felt  a  great  impulse  stirring  in  me  that  was 
like  what  one  feels  when  he  hears  the  roll  of  the  drums  and 
the  tramp  of  marching  men. 

"  I  believe  it,"  I  said. 

"  I  also  believe  it,"  said  Laxart.  "  If  she  had  told  me  before, 
that  she  was  commanded  of  God  to  rescue  France,  I  should 
not  have  believed ;  I  should  have  let  her  seek  the  governor 
by  her  own  ways  and  held  myself  clear  of  meddling  in  the 
matter,  not  doubting  she  was  mad.  But  I  have  seen  her 
stand  before  those  nobles  and  mighty  men  unafraid,  and 
say  her  say ;  and  she  had  not  been  able  to  do  that  but 
by  the  help  of  God.  That,  I  know.  Therefore  with  all 
humbleness  I  am  at  her  command,  to  do  with  me  as  she 
will." 

"  My  uncle  is  very  good  to  me,"  Joan  said.  "  I  sent  and 
asked  him  to  come  and  persuade  my  mother  to  let  him  take 
me  home  with  him  to  tend  his  wife,  who  is  not  well.  It  is  ar 
ranged,  and  we  go  at  dawn  to-morrow.  From  his  house  I 
shall  go  soon  to  Vaucouleurs,  and  wait  and  strive  until  my 
prayer  is  granted.  Who  were  the  two  cavaliers  who  sat  to 
your  left  at  the  governor's  table  that  day  ?" 

"  One  was  the  Sieur  Jean  de  Novelonpont  de  Metz,  the 
other  the  Sieur  Bertrand  de  Poulengy." 


"  Good  metal — good  metal,  both.  I  marked  them  for  men 
of  mine.  .  .  .  What  is  it  I  see  in  your  face  ?  Doubt  ?" 

I  was  teaching  myself  to  speak  the  truth  to  her,  not  trim 
ming  it  or  polishing  it ;  so  I  said — 

"They  considered  you  out  of  your  head,  and  said  so.  It 
is  true  they  pitied  you  for  being  in  such  misfortune,  but  still 
they  held  you  to  be  mad." 

This  did  not  seem  to  trouble  her  in  any  way  or  wound  her. 
She  only  said — 

"  The  wise  change  their  minds  when  they  perceive  that  they 
have  been  in  error.  These  will.  They  will  march  with  me. 
I  shall  see  them  presently.  .  .  .  You  seem  to  doubt  again  ?  Do 
you  doubt  ?"• 

"  N-no.  Not  now.  I  was  remembering  that  it  was  a  year 
ago,  and  that  they  did  not  belong  there,  but  only  chanced  to 
stop  a  day  on  their  journey." 

"  They  will  come  again.  But  as  to  matters  now  in  hand  ; 
I  came  to  leave  with  you  some  instructions.  You  will  follow 
me  in  a  few  days.  Order  your  affairs,  for  you  will  be  absent 
long." 

"  Will  Jean  and  Pierre  go  with  me  ?" 

"  No;  they  would  refuse  now,  but  presently  they  will  come, 
and  with  them  they  will  bring  my  parents'  blessing,  and  like 
wise  their  consent  that  I  take  up  my  mission.  I  shall  be 
stronger,  then — stronger  for  that ;  for  lack  of  it  I  am  weak, 
now."  She  paused  a  little  while,  and  the  tears  gathered  in 
her  eyes ;  then  she  went  on  :  "I  would  say  good-by  to  Little 
Mengette.  Bring  her  outside  the  village  at  dawn ;  she  must 
go  with  me  a  little  of  the  way — " 

"And  Haumette?" 

She  broke  down  and  began  to  cry,  saying — 

"  No,  oh,  no — she  is  too  dear  to  me,  I  could  not  bear  it, 
knowing  I  should  never  look  upon  her  face  again." 

Next  morning  I  brought  Mengette,  and  we  four  walked 
along  the  road  in  the  cold  dawn  till  the  village  was  far  be 
hind  ;  then  the  two  girls  said  their  good-byes,  clinging  about 
each  other's  neck,  and  pouring  out  their  grief  in  loving  words 


THE    GOVERNOR    KEEPS    HIS    PROMISE    TO   JOAN 


and  tears,  a  pitiful  sight  to  see.  And  Joan  took  one  long 
look  back  upon  the  distant  village,  and  the  Fairy  Tree,  and 
the  oak  forest,  and  the  flowery  plain,  and  the  river,  as  if  she 
was  trying  to  print  these  scenes  on  her  memory  so  that  they 
would  abide  there  always  and  not  fade,  for  she  knew  she 
would  not  see  them  any  more  in  this  life ;  then  she  turned, 
and  went  from  us,  sobbing  bitterly.  It  was  her  birthday  and 
mine.  She  was  seventeen  years  old. 


CHAPTER   II 

AFTER  a  few  days,  Laxart  took  Joan  to  Vaucouleurs,  and 
found  lodging  and  guardianship  for  her  with  Catherine  Royer, 
a  wheelwright's  wife,  an  honest  and  good  woman.  Joan  went 
to  mass  regularly,  she  helped  do  the  house-work,  earning  her 
keep  in  that  way,  and  if  any  wished  to  talk  with  her  about  her 
mission — and  many  did — she  talked  freely,  making  no  con 
cealments  regarding  the  matter  now.  I  was  soon  housed 
near  by,  and  witnessed  the  effects  which  followed.  At  once 
the  tidings  spread  that  a  young  girl  was  come  who  was  ap 
pointed  of  God  to  save  France.  The  common  people  flocked 
in  crowds  to  look  at  her  and  speak  with  her,  and  her  fair 
young  loveliness  won  the  half  of  their  belief,  and  her  deep  ear 
nestness  and  transparent  sincerity  won  the  other  half.  The 
well-to-do  remained  away  and  scoffed,  but  that  is  their  way. 

Next,  a  prophecy  of  Merlin's,  more  than  eight  hundred 
years  old,  was  called  to  mind,  which  said  that  in  a  far  future 
time  France  would  be  lost  by  a  woman  and  restored  by  a 
woman.  France  was  now,  for  the  first  time,  lost — and  by  a 
woman,  Isabel  of  Bavaria,  her  base  Queen;  doubtless  this 
fair  and  pure  young  girl  was  commissioned  of  Heaven  to 
complete  the  prophecy. 

This  gave  the  growing  interest  a  new  and  powerful  impulse  ; 
the  excitement  rose  higher  and  higher,  and  hope  and  faith 
along  with  it ;  and  so  from  Vaucouleurs  wave  after  wave  of 
this  inspiring  enthusiasm  flowed  out  over  the  land,  far  and 
wide,  invading  all  the  villages  and  refreshing  and  revivifying 
the  perishing  children  of  France ;  and  from  these  villages 
came  people  who  wanted  to  see  for  themselves,  hear  for  them 
selves  ;  and  they  did  see  and  hear,  and  believe.  They  filled 


73 


the  town ;  they  more  than  filled  it ;  inns  and  lodgings  were 
packed,  and  yet  half  of  the  inflow  had  to  go  without  shelter. 
And  still  they  came,  winter  as  it  was,  for  when  a  man's  soul 
is  starving,  what  does  he  care  for  meat  and  roof  so  he  can  but 
get  that  nobler  hunger  fed  ?  Day  after  day,  and  still  day  after 
day,  the  great  tide  rose.  Domremy  was  dazed,  amazed,  stupe 
fied,  and  said  to  itself,  "  Was  this  world-wonder  in  our  familiar 
midst  all  these  years  and  we  too  dull  to  see  it  ?"  Jean  and 
Pierre  went  out  from  the  village  stared  at  and  envied  like  the 
great  and  fortunate  of  the  earth,  and  their  progress  to  Vau- 
couleurs  was  like  a  triumph,  all  the  country-side  flocking  to 
see  and  salute  the  brothers  of  one  with  whom  angels  had 
spoken  face  to  face,  and  into  whose  hands  by  command  of 
God  they  had  delivered  the  destinies  of  France. 

The  brothers  brought  the  parents'  blessing  and  Godspeed 
to  Joan,  and  their  promise  to  bring  it  to  her  in  person  later ; 
and  so,  with  this  culminating  happiness  in  her  heart  and  the 
high  hope  it  inspired,  she  went  and  confronted  the  governor 
again.  But  he  was  no  more  tractable  than  he  had  been  before. 
He  refused  to  send  her  to  the  King.  She  was  disappointed, 
but  in  no  degree  discouraged.  She  said — 

"  I  must  still  come  to  you  until  I  get  the  men-at-arms  ;  for 
so  it  is  commanded,  and  I  may  not  disobey.  I  must  go  to  the 
Dauphin,  though  I  go  on  my  knees." 

I  and  the  two  brothers  were  with  Joan  daily,  to  see  the 
people  that  came  and  hear  what  they  said  ;  and  one  day,  sure 
enough,  the  Sieur  Jean  de  Metz  came.  He  talked  with  her 
in  a  petting  and  playful  way,  as  one  talks  with  children,  and 
said — 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  my  little  maid  ?  Will  they 
drive  the  King  out  of  France,  and  shall  we  all  turn  English  ?" 

She  answered  him  in  her  tranquil,  serious  way— 

"  I  am  come  to  bid  Robert  de  Bauclricourt  take  or  send  me 
to  the  King,  but  he  does  not  heed  my  words." 

"  Ah,  you  have  an  admirable  persistence,  truly ;  a  whole 
year  has  not  turned  you  from  your  wish.  I  saw  you  when  you 
came  before." 


74 


Joan  said,  as  tranquilly  as  before — 

"  It  is  not  a  wish,  it  is  a  purpose.  He  will  grant  it.  I  can 
wait." 

"  Ah,  perhaps  it  will  not  be  wise  to  make  too  sure  of  that, 
my  child.  These  governors  are  stubborn  people  to  deal  with. 
In  case  he  shall  not  grant  your  prayer — " 

"  He  will  grant  it.     He  must.     It  is  not  matter  of  choice." 

The  gentleman's  playful  mood  began  to  disappear — one 
could  see  that,  by  his  face.  Joan's  earnestness  was  affecting 
him.  It  always  happened  that  people  who  began  in  jest  with 
her,  ended  by  being  in  earnest.  They  soon  began  to  per 
ceive  depths  in  her  that  they  had  not  suspected ;  and  then 
her  manifest  sincerity  and  the  rocklike  steadfastness  of  her 
convictions  were  forces  which  cowed  levity,  and  it  could  not 
maintain  its  self-respect  in  their  presence.  The  Sieur  de 
Metz  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment  or  two.  then  he  began,  quite 
soberly — 

"  Is  it  necessary  that  you  go  to  the  King  soon  ? — that  is,  I 
mean — " 

"  Before  Mid-Lent,  even  though  I  wear  away  my  legs  to  the 
knees  !" 

She  said  it  with  that  sort  of  repressed  fieriness  that  means 
so  much  when  a  person's  heart  is  in  a  thing.  You  could  see 
the  response  in  that  nobleman's  face ;  you  could  see  his  eye 
light  up ;  there  was  sympathy  there.  He  said,  most  earnestly— 

"God  knows  I  think  you  should  have  the  men-at-arms,  and 
that  somewhat  would  come  of  it.  What  is  it  that  you  would 
do  ?  What  is  your  hope  and  purpose  ?" 

"To  rescue  France.  And  it  is  appointed  that  I  shall  do  it. 
For  no  one  else  in  the  world,  neither  kings,  nor  dukes,  nor 
any  other,  can  recover  the  kingdom  of  France,  and  there  is  no 
help  but  in  me." 

The  words  had  a  pleading  and  pathetic  sound,  and  they 
touched  that  good  nobleman.  I  saw  it  plainly.  Joan  dropped 
her  voice  a  little,  and  said  :  "  But  indeed  I  would  rather  spin 
with  my  poor  mother,  for  this  is  not  my  calling ;  but  I  must  go 
and  do  it,  for  it  is  my  Lord's  will." 


75 

"  Who  is  your  Lord  ?" 

"He  is  God." 

Then  the  Sieur  de  Metz,  following  the  impressive  old  feudal 
fashion,  knelt  and  laid  his  hands  within  Joan's,  in  sign  of 
fealty,  and  made  oath  that  by  God's  help  he  himself  would 
take  her  to  the  King. 

The  next  day  came  the  Sieur  Bertrand  de  Poulengy,  and  he 
also  pledged  his  oath  and  knightly  honor  to  abide  with  her 
and  follow  whithersoever  she  might  lead. 

This  day,  too,  toward  evening,  a  great  rumor  went  flying 
abroad  through  the  town — namely,  that  the  very  governor  him 
self  was  going  to  visit  the  young  girl  in  her  humble  lodgings. 
So  in  the  morning  the  streets  and  lanes  were  packed  with  peo 
ple  waiting  to  see  if  this  strange  thing  would  indeed  happen. 
And  happen  it  did.  The  governor  rode  in  state,  attended  by 
his  guards,  and  the  news  of  it  went  everywhere,  and  made  a 
great  sensation,  and  modified  the  scoffings  of  the  people  of 
quality  and  raised  Joan's  credit  higher  than  ever. 

The  governor  had  made  up  his  mind  to  one  thing:  Joan 
was  either  a  witch  or  a  saint,  and  he  meant  to  find  out  which 
it  was.  So  he  brought  a  priest  with  him  to  exorcise  the  devil 
that  was  in  her  in  case  there  was  one  there.  The  priest  per 
formed  his  office,  but  found  no  devil.  He  merely  hurt  Joan's 
feelings  and  offended  her  piety  without  need,  for  he  had  al 
ready  confessed  her  before  this,  and  should  have  known,  if  he 
knew  anything,  that  devils  cannot  abide  the  confessional,  but 
utter  cries  of  anguish  and  the  most  profane  and  furious  curs 
ings  whenever  they  are  confronted  with  that  holy  office. 

The  governor  went  away  troubled  and  full  of  thought,  and 
not  knowing  what  to  do.  And  while  he  pondered  and  stud 
ied,  several  days  went  by  and  the  1/j.th  of  February  was  come. 
Then  Joan  went  to  the  castle  and  said — 

"  In  God's  name,  Robert  de  Baudricourt,  you  are  too  slow 
about  sending  me,  and  have  caused  damage  thereby,  for  this 
day  the  Dauphin's  cause  has  lost  a  battle  near  Orleans,  and 
will  suffer  yet  greater  injury  if  you  do  not  send  me  to  him 
soon." 


The  governor  was  perplexed  by  this  speech,  and  said — 
"  To-day,  child,  to-day?    How  can  you  know  what  has  hap 
pened  in  that  region  to-day  ?    It  would  take  eight  or  ten  days 
for  the  word  to  come." 

"  My  Voices  have  brought  the  word  to  me,  and  it  is  true. 
A  battle  was  lost  to-day,  and  you  are  in  fault  to  delay  me 
so." 

The  governor  walked  the  floor  a  while,  talking  within  him 
self,  but  letting  a  great  oath  fall  outside  now  and  then ;  and 
finally  he  said— 

"  Harkye !  go  in  peace,  and  wait.  If  it  shall  turn  out  as 
you  say,  I  will  give  you  the  letter  and  send  you  to  the  King, 
and  not  otherwise." 

Joan  said  with  fervor — 

"  Now  God  be  thanked,  these  waiting  days  are  almost  done. 
In  nine  days  you  will  fetch  me  the  letter." 

Already  the  people  of  Vaucouleurs  had  given  her  a  horse 
and  had  armed  and  equipped  her  as  a  soldier.  She  got  no 
chance  to  try  the  horse  and  see  if  she  could  ride  it,  for  her 
great  first  duty  was  to  abide  at  her  post  and  lift  up  the  hopes 
and  spirits  of  all  who  would  come  to  talk  with  her,  and  pre 
pare  them  to  help  in  the  rescue  and  regeneration  of  the  king 
dom.  This  occupied  every  waking  moment  she  had.  But 
it  was  no  matter.  There  was  nothing  she  could  not  learn — 
and  in  the  briefest  time,  too.  Her  horse  would  find  this  out 
in  the  first  hour.  Meantime  the  brothers  and  I  took  the 
horse  in  turn  and  began  to  learn  to  ride.  And  we  had  teach 
ing  in  the  use  of  the  sword  and  other  arms,  also. 

On  the  2oth  Joan  called  her  small  army  together — the  two 
knights  and  her  two  brothers  and  me — for  a  private  council 
of  war.  No,  it  was  not  a  council,  that  is  not  the  right  name, 
for  she  did  not  consult  with  us,  she  merely  gave  us  orders. 
She  mapped  out  the  course  she  would  travel  toward  the 
King,  and  did  it  like  a  person  perfectly  versed  in  geography ; 
and  this  itinerary  of  daily  marches  was  so  arranged  as  to 
avoid  here  and  there  peculiarly  dangerous  regions  by  flank 
movements — which  showed  that  she  knew  her  political  geog- 


77 


raphy  as  intimately  as  she  knew  her  physical  geography ;  yet 
she  had  never  had  a  day's  schooling,  of  course,  and  was  with 
out  education.  I  was  astonished,  but  thought  her  Voices  must 
have  taught  her.  But  upon  reflection  I  saw  that  this  was  not 
so.  By  her  references  to  what  this  and  that  and  the  other 
person  had  told  her,  I  perceived  that  she  had  been  diligently 
questioning  those  crowds  of  visiting  strangers,  and  that  out 
of  them  she  had  patiently  dug  all  this  mass  of  invaluable 
knowledge.  The  two  knights  were  filled  with  wonder  at  her 
good  sense  and  sagacity. 

She  commanded  us  to  make  preparations  to  travel  by  night 
and  sleep  by  day  in  concealment,  as  almost  the  whole  of  our 
long  journey  would  be  through  the  enemy's  country. 

Also,  she  commanded  that  we  should  keep  the  date  of  our 
departure  a  secret,  since  she  meant  to  get  away  unobserved. 
Otherwise  we  should  be  sent  off  with  a  grand  demonstration 
which  would  advertise  us  to  the  enemy,  and  we  should  be 
ambushed  and  captured  somewhere.  Finally  she  said — 

"  Nothing  remains,  now,  but  that  I  confide  to  you  the  date 
of  our  departure,  so  that  you  may  make  all  needful  preparation 
in  time,  leaving  nothing  to  be  done  in  haste  and  badly  at  the 
last  moment.  We  march  the  23d,  at  eleven  of  the  clock  at 
night." 

Then  we  were  dismissed.  The  two  knights  were  startled — 
yes,  and  troubled ;  and  the  Sieur  Bertrand  said — 

"  Even  if  the  governor  shall  really  furnish  the  letter  and  the 
escort,  he  still  may  not  do  it  in  time  to  meet  the  date  she  has 
chosen.  Then  how  can  she  venture  to  name  that  date  ?  It 
is  a  great  risk — a  great  risk  to  select  and  decide  upon  the 
date,  in  this  state  of  uncertainty." 

I  said — 

"  Since  she  has  named  the  23d,  we  may  trust  her.  The 
Voices  have  told  her,  I  think.  We  shall  do  best  to  obey." 

We  did  obey.  Joan's  parents  were  notified  to  come  before 
the  23d,  but  prudence  forbade  that  they  be  told  why  this  limit 
was  named. 

All  day,  the  23d,  she  glanced  up  wistfully  whenever  new 


78 

bodies  of  strangers  entered  the  house,  but  her  parents  did  not 
appear.  Still  she  was  not  discouraged,  but  hoped  on.  But 
when  night  fell,  at  last,  her  hopes  perished,  and  the  tears 
came ;  however,  she  dashed  them  away,  and  said — 

"  It  was  to  be  so,  no  doubt ;  no  doubt  it  was  so  ordered ;  I 
must  bear  it,  and  will." 

De  Metz  tried  to  comfort  her  by  saying — 

"  The  governor  sends  no  word ;  it  may  be  that  they  will 
come  to-morrow,  and — " 

He  got  no  further,  for  she  interrupted  him,  saying — 

"  To  what  good  end  ?     We  start  at  eleven  to-night." 

And  it  was  so.  At  ten  the  governor  came,  with  his  guard 
and  torch-bearers,  and  delivered  to  her  a  mounted  escort  of 
men-at-arms,  with  horses  and  equipments  for  me  and  for  the 
brothers,  and  gave  Joan  a  letter  to  the  King.  Then  he  took 
off  his  sword,  and  belted  it  about  her  waist  with  his  own 
hands,  and  safd — 

"  You  said  true,  child.  The  battle  was  lost,  on  the  day  you 
said.  So  I  have  kept  my  word.  Now  go — come  of  it  what 
may." 

Joan  gave  him  thanks,  and  he  went  his  way. 

The  lost  battle  was  the  famous  disaster  that  is  called  in 
history  the  Battle  of  the  Herrings. 

All  the  lights  in  the  house  were  at  once  put  out,  and  a  little 
while  after,  when  the  streets  had  become  dark  and  still,  we 
crept  stealthily  through  them  and  out  at  the  western  gate  and 
rode  away  under  whip  and  spur. 


CHAPTER   III 

WE  were  twenty-five  strong,  and  well  equipped.  We  rode 
in  double  file,  Joan  and  her  brothers  in  the  centre  of  the  col 
umn,  with  Jean  de  Metz  at  the  head  of  it  and  the  Sieur  Ber- 
trand  at  its  extreme  rear.  The  knights  were  so  placed  to 
prevent  desertions — for  the  present.  In  two  or  three  hours 
we  should  be  in  the  enemy's  country,  and  then  none  would 
venture  to  desert.  By-and-by  we  began  to  hear  groans  and 
sobs  and  execrations  from  different  points  along  the  line,  and 
upon  inquiry  found  that  six  of  our  men  were  peasants  who 
had  never  ridden  a  horse  before,  and  were  finding  it  very  diffi 
cult  to  stay  in  their  saddles,  and  moreover  were  now  begin 
ning  to  suffer  considerable  bodily  torture.  They  had  been 
seized  by  the  governor  at  the  last  moment  and  pressed  into 
the  service  to  make  up  the  tale,  and  he  had  placed  a  veteran 
alongside  of  each  with  orders  to  help  him  stick  to  the  saddle, 
and  kill  him  if  he  tried  to  desert. 

These  poor  devils  had  kept  quiet  as  long  as  they  could,  but 
their  physical  miseries  were  become  so  sharp  by  this  time  that 
they  were  obliged  to  give  them  vent.  But  we  were  within  the 
enemy's  country  now,  so  there  was  no  help  for  them,  they 
must  continue  the  march,  though  Joan  said  that  if  they  chose 
to  take  the  risk  they  might  depart.  They  preferred  to  stay 
with  us.  We  modified  our  pace  now,  and  moved  cautiously, 
and  the  new  men  were  warned  to  keep  their  sorrows  to  them 
selves  and  not  get  the  command  into  danger  with  their  curses 
and  lamentations. 

Toward  dawn  we  rode  deep  into  a  forest,  and  soon  all  but 
the  sentries  were  sound  asleep  in  spite  of  the  cold  ground  and 
the  frosty  air. 


8o 


I  woke  at  noon  out  of  such  a  solid  and  stupefying  sleep 
that  at  first  my  wits  were  all  astray,  and  I  did  not  know  where 
I  was  nor  what  had  been  happening.  Then  my  senses  cleared, 
and  I  remembered.  As  I  lay  there  thinking  over  the  strange 
events  of  the  past  month  or  two  the  thought  came  into  my 
mind,  greatly  surprising  me,  that  one  of  Joan's  prophecies  had 
failed  ;  for  where  were  Noel  and  the  Paladin,  who  were  to 
join  us  at  the  eleventh  hour  ?  By  this  time,  you  see,  I  had 
gotten  used  to  expecting  everything  Joan  said  to  come  true. 
So,  being  disturbed  and  troubled  by  these  thoughts,  I  opened 
my  eyes.  Well,  there  stood  the  Paladin  leaning  against  a 
tree  and  looking  down  on  me !  How  often  that  happens : 
you  think  of  a  person,  or  speak  of  a  person,  and  there  he 
stands  before  you,  and  you  not  dreaming  he  is  near.  It  looks 
as  if  his  being  near  is  really  the  thing  that  makes  you  think  of 
him,  and  not  just  an  accident,  as  people  imagine.  Well,  be 
that  as  it  may,  there  was  the  Paladin,  anyway,  looking  down 
in  my  face  and  waiting  for  me  to  wake.  I  was  ever  so  glad 
to  see  him,  and  jumped  up  and  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and 
led  him  a  little  way  from  the  camp — he  limping  like  a  cripple 
— and  told  him  to  sit  down,  and  said — 

"  Now,  where  have  you  dropped  down  from  ?  And  how  did 
you  happen  to  light  in  this  place  ?  And  what  do  the  soldier- 
clothes  mean  ?  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

He  answered — 

"  I  marched  with  you  last  night." 

"  No !"  (To  myself  I  said,  "  The  prophecy  has  not  all 
failed — half  of  it  has  come  true.") 

"Yes,  I  did.  I  hurried  up  from  Domremy  to  join,  and  was 
within  a  half  a  minute  of  being  too  late.  In  fact,  I  was  too 
late,  but  I  begged  so  hard  that  the  governor  was  touched  by 
my  brave  devotion  to  my  country's  cause  —  those  are  the 
words  he  used— and  so  he  yielded,  and  allowed  me  to  come." 

I  thought  to  myself,  this  is  a  lie,  he  is  one  of  those  six  the 
governor  recruited  by  force  at  the  last  moment ;  I  know  it, 
for  Joan's  prophecy  said  he  would  join  at  the  eleventh  hour, 
but  not  by  his  own  desire.  Then  I  said  aloud — 


8i 


"  I  am  glad  you  came  ;  it  is  a  noble  cause,  and  one  should 
not  sit  at  home  in  times  like  these." 

"  Sit  at  home !  I  could  no  more  do  it  than  the  thunder- 
stone  could  stay  hid  in  the  clouds  when  the  storm  calls  it." 

"  That  is  the  right  talk.    It  sounds  like  you." 

That  pleased  him. 

"I'm  glad  you  know  me.  Some  don't.  But  they  will, 
presently.  They  will  know  me  well  enough  before  I  get  done 
with  this  war." 

"  That  is  what  I  think.  I  believe  that  wherever  danger 
confronts  you  you  will  make  yourself  conspicuous." 

He  was  charmed  with  this  speech,  and  it  swelled  him  up 
like  a  bladder.  He  said— 

"  If  I  know  myself — and  I  think  I  do — my  performances 
in  this  campaign  will  give  you  occasion  more  than  once  to 
remember  those  words." 

"  I  were  a  fool  to  doubt  it.     That,  I  know." 

"I  shall  not  be  at  my  best,  being  but  a  common  soldier; 
still,  the  country  will  hear  of  me.  If  I  were  where  I  belong; 
if  I  were  in  the  place  of  La  Hire,  or  Saintrailles,  or  the 
Bastard  of  Orleans — well,  I  say  nothing,  I  am  not  of  the 
talking  kind,  like  Noel  Rainguesson  and  his  sort,  I  thank 
God.  But  it  will  be  something,  I  take  it — a  novelty  in  this 
world,  I  should  say — to  raise  the  fame  of  a  private  soldier 
above  theirs,  and  extinguish  the  glory  of  their  names  with 
its  shadow." 

"  Why,  look  here,  my  friend,"  I  said,  "  do  you  know  that 
you  have  hit  out  a  most  remarkable  idea  there  ?  Do  you 
realize  the  gigantic  proportions  of  it  ?  For  look  you  :  to  be 
a  general  of  vast  renown,  what  is  that?  Nothing — history 
is  clogged  and  confused  with  them;  one  cannot  keep  their 
names  in  his  memory,  there  are  so  many.  But  a  common 
soldier  of  supreme  renown — why,  he  would  stand  alone  !  He 
would  be  the  one  moon  in  a  firmament  of  mustard-seed  stars ; 
his  name  would  outlast  the  human  race!  My  friend,  who 
gave  you  that  idea  ?" 

He  was  ready  to  burst  with  happiness,  but  he  suppressed 


82 


betrayal  of  it  as  well  as  he  could.  He  simply  waved  the 
compliment  aside  with  his  hand  and  said,  with  complacency — 

"  It  is  nothing.  I  have  them  often — ideas  like  that — and 
even  greater  ones.  I  do  not  consider  this  one  much." 

"You  astonish  me;  you  do   indeed.     So  it  is  really  your 


own  t 


"  Quite.     And  there  is  plenty  more  where  it  came  from  "- 
tapping  his  head  with  his  finger,  and  taking  occasion  at  the 
same  time  to  cant  his  morion  over  his  right  ear,  which  gave 
him  a  very  self-satisfied   air — "  I  do  not  need  to  borrow  my 
ideas,  like  Noel  Rainguesson." 

"  Speaking  of  Noel,  when  did  you  see  him  last  ?" 

"  Half  an  hour  ago.  He  is  sleeping  yonder  like  a  corpse. 
Rode  with  us  last  night." 

I  felt  a  great  upleap  in  my  heart,  and  said  to  myself,  now 
I  am  at  rest  and  glad  ;  I  will  never  doubt  her  prophecies 
again.  Then  I  said  aloud — 

"It  gives  me  joy.  It  makes  me  proud  of  our  village.  There 
is  no  keeping  our  lion-hearts  at  home  in  these  great  times,  I 
see  that." 

"  Lion-heart !  Who — that  baby  ?  Why,  he  begged  like  a 
dog  to  be  let  off.  Cried,  and  said  he  wanted  to  go  to  his 
mother.  Him  a  lion-heart! — that  tumble-bug!" 

"Dear  me,  why  I  supposed  he  volunteered,  of  course. 
Didn't  he  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  volunteered  the  way  people  do  to  the  headsman. 
Why,- when  he  found  I  was  coming  up  from  Domremy  to  vol 
unteer,  he  asked  me  to  let  him  come  along  in  my  protection, 
and  see  the  crowds  and  the  excitement.  Well,  we  arrived 
and  saw  the  torches  filing  out  at  the  Castle,  and  ran  there, 
and  the  governor  had  him  seized,  along  with  four  more,  and 
he  begged  to  be  let  off,  and  I  begged  for  his  place,  and  at  last 
the  governor  allowed  me  to  join,  but  wouldn't  let  Noel  off, 
because  he  was  disgusted  with  him  he  was  such  a  cry-baby. 
Yes,  and  much  good  he'll  do  the  King's  service  :  he'll  eat  for 
six  and  run  for  sixteen.  I  hate  a  pigmy  with  half  a  heart  and 
nine  stomachs !" 


THE    PALADIN  S   APPEARANCE   IN    CAMP 


83 

"  Why,  this  is  very  surprising  news  to  me,  and  I  am  sorry 
and  disappointed  to  hear  it.  I  thought  he  was  a  very  manly 
fellow." 

The  Paladin  gave  me  an  outraged  look,  and  said  : 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  talk  like  that,  I'm  sure  I  don't.  I 
don't  see  how  you  could  have  got  such  a  notion.  I  don't  dislike 
him,  and  I'm  not  saying  these  things  out  of  prejudice,  for  I  don't 
allow  myself  to  have  prejudices  against  people.  I  like  him, 
and  have  always  comraded  with  him  from  the  cradle,  but  he 
must  allow  me  to  speak  my  mind  about  his  faults,  and  I  am 
willing  he  shall  speak  his  about  mine,  if  I  have  any.  And 
true  enough,  maybe  I  have  ;  but  I  reckon  they'll  bear  inspec 
tion — I  have  that  idea,  anyway.  A  manly  fellow  !  You  should 
have  heard  him  whine  and  wail  and  swear,  last  night,  because 
the  saddle  hurt  him.  Why  didn't  the  saddle  hurt  me?  Pooh 
—I  was  as  much  at  home  in  it  as  if  I  had  been  born  there. 
And  yet  it  was  the  first  time  I  was  ever  on  a  horse.  All  those 
old  soldiers  admired  my  riding;  they  said  they  had  never  seen 
anything  like  it.  But  him — why,  they  had  to  hold  him  on,  all 
the  time." 

An  odor  as  of  breakfast  came  stealing  through  the  wood ; 
the  Paladin  unconsciously  inflated  his  nostrils  in  lustful  re 
sponse,  and  got  up  and  limped  painfully  away,  saying  he  must 
go  and  look  to  his  horse. 

At  bottom  he  was  all  right  and  a  good-hearted  giant,  without 
any  harm  in  him,  for  it  is  no  harm  to  bark,  if  one  stops  there 
and  does  not  bite,  and  it  is  no  harm  to  be  an  ass,  if  one  is  con 
tent  to  bray  and  not  kick.  If  this  vast  structure  of  brawn 
and  muscle  and  vanity  and  foolishness  seemed  to  have  a  li 
bellous  tongue,  what  of  it  ?  There  was  no  malice  behind  it ; 
and  besides,  the  defect  was  not  of  his  own  creation ;  it  was 
the  work  of  Noel  Rainguesson,  who  had  nurtured  it,  fostered 
it,  built  it  up  and  perfected  it,  for  the  entertainment  he  got 
out  of  it.  His  careless  light  heart  had  to  have  somebody 
to  nag  and  chaff  and  make  fun  of,  the  Paladin  had  only 
needed  development  in  order  to  meet  its  requirements,  conse 
quently  the  development  was  taken  in  hand  and  diligently 


84 


attended  to  and  looked  after,  gnat-and-bull  fashion,  for  years, 
to  the  neglect  and  damage  of  far  more  important  concerns. 
The  result  was  an  unqualified  success.  Noel  prized  the  so 
ciety  of  the  Paladin  above  everybody  else's ;  the  Paladin  pre 
ferred  anybody's  to  Noel's.  The  big  fellow  was  often  seen 
with  the  little  fellow,  but  it  was  for  the  same  reason  that  t<he 
bull  is  often  seen  with  the  gnat. 

With  the  first  opportunity,  I  had  a  talk  with  Noel.  I  wel 
comed  him  to  our  expedition,  and  said — 

"It  was  fine  and  brave  of  you  to  volunteer,  Noel." 

His  eye  twinkled,  and  he  answered — 

"  Yes,  it  was  rather  fine  I  think.  Still,  the  credit  doesn't 
all  belong  to  me  ;  I  had  help." 

"Who  helped  you?' 

"The  governor." 

"How?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  thing.  I  came  up  from 
Domremy  to  see  the  crowds  and  the  general  show,  for  I 
hadn't  ever  had  any  experience  of  such  things,  of  course, 
and  this  was  a  great  opportunity ;  but  I  hadn't  any  mind  to 
volunteer.  I  overtook  the  Paladin  on  the  road  and  let  him 
have  my  company  the  rest  of  the  way,  although  he  did  not 
want  it  and  said  so;  and  while  we  were  gawking  and  blink 
ing  in  the  glare  of  the  governor's  torches  they  seized  us  and 
four  more  and  added  us  to  the  escort,  and  that  is  really  how  I 
came  to  volunteer.  But  after  all,  I  wasn't  sorry,  remembering 
how  dull  life  would  have  been  in  the  village  without  the  Pala 
din." 

"  How  did  he  feel  about  it  ?     Was  he  satisfied  ?" 

"  I  think  he  was  glad." 

"Why?" 

"Because  he  said  he  wasn't.  He  was  taken  by  surprise, 
you  see,  and  it  is  not  likely  that  he  could  tell  the  truth  with 
out  preparation.  Not  that  he  would  have  prepared,  if  he  had 
had  the  chance,  for  I  do  not  think  he  would.  I  am  not  charg 
ing  him  with  that.  In  the  same  space  of  time  that  he  could 
prepare  to  speak  the  truth,  he  could  also  prepare  to  lie ;  be- 


85 

sides,  his  judgment  would  be  cool  then,  and  would  warn  him 
against  fooling  with  new  methods  in  an  emergency.  No,  I 
am  sure  he  was  glad,  because  he  said  he  wasn't." 

"  Do  you  think  he  was  very  glad  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  he  was.  He  begged  like  a  slave,  and  bawled 
for  his  mother.  He  said  his  health  was  delicate,  and  he  didn't 
know  how  to  ride  a  horse,  and  knew  he  couldn't  outlive  the 
first  march.  But  really  he  wasn't  looking  as  delicate  as 
he  was  feeling.  There  was  a  cask  of  wine  there,  a  proper 
lift  for  four  men.  The  governor's  temper  got  afire,  and  he 
delivered  an  oath  at  him  that  knocked  up  the  dust  where  it 
struck  the  ground,  and  told  him  to  shoulder  that  cask  or  he 
would  carve  him  to  cutlets  and  send  him  home  in  a  basket. 
The  Paladin  did  it,  and  that  secured  his  promotion  to  a 
privacy  in  the  escort  without  any  further  debate." 

"  Yes,  you  seem  to  make  it  quite  plain  that  he  was  glad  to 
join — that  is,  if  your  premises  are  right  that  you  start  from. 
How  did  he  stand  the  march  last  night  ?" 

"  About  as  I  did.  If  he  made  the  more  noise,  it  was  the 
privilege  of  his  bulk.  We  stayed  in  our  saddles  because  we 
had  help.  We  are  equally  lame  to-day,  and  if  he  likes  to  sit 
down,  let  him  ;  I  prefer  to  stand." 


CHAPTER   IV 

WE  were  called  to  quarters  and  subjected  to  a  searching 
inspection  by  Joan.  Then  she  made  a  short  little  talk  in 
which  she  said  that  even  the  rude  business  of  war  could  be 
conducted  better  without  profanity  and  other  brutalities  of 
speech  than  with  them,  and  that  she  should  strictly  require 
us  to  remember  and  apply  this  admonition.  She  ordered 
half  an  hour's  horsemanship- drill  for  the  novices  then, 
and  appointed  one  of  the  veterans  to  conduct  it.  It  was  a 
ridiculous  exhibition,  but  we  learned  something,  and  Joan 
was  satisfied  and  complimented  us.  She  did  not  take  any 
instruction  herself  or  go  through  the  evolutions  and  manoeu 
vres,  but  merely  sat  her  horse  like  a  martial  little  statue 
and  looked  on.  That  was  sufficient  for  her,  you  see.  She 
would  not  miss  or  forget  a  detail  of  the  lesson,  she  would 
take  it  all  in  with  her  eye  and  her  mind,  and  apply  it  after 
ward  with  as  much  certainty  and  confidence  as  if  she  had 
already  practised  it. 

We  now  made  three  night-marches  of  twelve  or  thirteen 
leagues  each,  riding  in  peace  and  undisturbed,  being  taken 
for  a  roving  band  of  Free  Companions.  Country  folk  were 
glad  to  have  that  sort  of  people  go  by  without  stopping. 
Still,  they  were  very  wearing  marches,  and  not  comfortable, 
for  the  bridges  were  few  and  the  streams  many,  and  as  we 
had  to  ford  them  we  found  the  water  dismally  cold,  and  af 
terward  had  to  bed  ourselves,  still  wet,  on  the  frosty  or 
snowy  ground,  and  get  warm  as  we  might  and  sleep  if  we 
could,  for  it  would  not  have  been  prudent  to  build  fires.  Our 
energies  languished  under  these  hardships  and  deadly  fa 
tigues,  but  Joan's  did  not.  Her  step  kept  its  spring  and 


firmness  and  her  eye  its  fire.  We  could  only  wonder  at  this, 
we  could  not  explain  it. 

But  if  we  had  had  hard  times  before,  I  know  not  what  to 
call  the  five  nights  that  now  followed,  for  the  marches  were 
as  fatiguing,  the  baths  as  cold,  and  we  were  ambuscaded  seven 
times  in  addition,  and  lost  two  novices  and  three  veterans  in 
the  resulting  fights.  The  news  had  leaked  out  and  gone 
abroad  that  the  inspired  Virgin  of  Vaucouleurs  was  making 
for  the  King  with  an  escort,  and  all  the  roads  were  being 
watched  now. 

These  five  nights  disheartened  the  command  a  good  deal. 
This  was  aggravated  by  a  discovery  which  Noel  made,  and 
which  he  promptly  made  known  at  headquarters.  Some  of 
the  men  had  been  trying  to  understand  why  Joan  continued 
to  be  alert,  vigorous,  and  confident  while  the  strongest  men 
•  in  the  company  were  fagged  with  the  heavy  marches  and  ex 
posure  and  were  become  morose  and  irritable.  There,  it 
shows  you  how  men  can  have  eyes  and  yet  not  see.  All  their 
lives  those  men  had  seen  their  own  womenfolks  hitched  up 
with  a  cow  and  dragging  the  plough  in  the  fields  while  the 
men  did  the  driving.  They  had  also  seen  other  evidences 
that  women  have  far  more  endurance  and  patience  and  forti 
tude  than  men — but  what  good  had  their  seeing  these  things 
been  to  them  ?  None.  It  had  taught  them  nothing.  They 
were  still  surprised  to  see  a  girl  of  seventeen  bear  the  fatigues 
of  war  better  than  trained  veterans  of  the  army.  Moreover, 
they  did  not  reflect  that  a  great  soul,  with  a  great  purpose, 
can  make  a  weak  body  strong  and  keep  it  so ;  and  here  was 
the  greatest  soul  in  the  universe ;  but  how  could  they  know 
that,  those  dumb  creatures  ?  No,  they  knew  nothing,  and  their 
reasonings  were  of  a  piece  with  their  ignorance.  They  argued 
and  discussed  among  themselves,  with  Noel  listening,  and 
arrived  at  the  decision  that  Joan  was  a  witch,  and  had  her 
strange  pluck  and  strength  from  Satan  ;  so  they  made  a  plan 
to  watch  for  a  safe  opportunity  and  take  her  life. 

To  have  secret  plottings  of  this  sort  going  on  in  our  midst 
was  a  very  serious  business,  of  course,  and  the  knights  asked 


Joan's  permission  to  hang  the  plotters,  but  she  refused  with 
out  hesitancy.  She  said : 

"  Neither  these  men  nor  any  others  can  take  my  life  before 
my  mission  is  accomplished,  therefore  why  should  I  have 
their  blood  upon  my  hands  ?  I  will  inform  them  of  this,  and 
also  admonish  them.  Call  them  before  me." 

When  they  came  she  made  that  statement  to  them  in  a 
plain  matter-of-fact  way,  and  just  as  if  the  thought  never  en 
tered  her  mind  that  any  one  could  doubt  it  after  she  had 
given  her  word  that  it  was  true.  The  men  were  evidently 
amazed  and  impressed  to  hear  her  say  such  a  thing  in  such  a 
sure  and  confident  way,  for  prophecies  boldly  uttered  never 
?  fall  barren  on  superstitious  ears.  Yes,  this  speech  certainly 
impressed  them,  but  her  closing  remark  impressed  them  still 
more.  It  was  for  the  ringleader,  and  Joan  said  it  sorrowfully — 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  you  should  plot  another's  death  when 
your  own  is  so  close  at  hand." 

That  man's  horse  stumbled  and  fell  on  him  in  the  first  ford 
which  we  crossed  that  night,  and  he  was  drowned  before  we 
could  help  him.  We  had  no  more  conspiracies. 

This  night  was  harassed  with  ambuscades,  but  we  got 
through  without  having  any  men  killed.  One  more  night 
would  carry  us  over  the  hostile  frontier  if  we  had  good  luck, 
and  we  saw  the  night  close  down  with  a  good  deal  of  solici 
tude.  Always  before,  we  had  been  more  or  less  reluctant  to 
start  out  into  the  gloom  and  the  silence  to  be  frozen  in  the 
fords  and  persecuted  by  the  enemy,  but  this  time  we  were 
impatient  to  get  under  way  and  have  it  over,  although  there 
was  promise  of  more  and  harder  fighting  than  any  of  the 
previous  nights  had  furnished.  Moreover,  in  front  of  us 
about  three  leagues  there  was  a  deep  stream  with  a  frail 
wooden  bridge  over  it,  and  as  a  cold  rain  mixed  with  snow 
had  been  falling  steadily  all  day  we  were  anxious  to  find 
out  whether  we  were  in  a  trap  or  not.  If  the  swollen  stream 
had  washed  away  the  bridge,  we  might  properly  consider  our 
selves  trapped  and  cut  off  from  escape. 

As  soon  as  it  was  dark  we  filed  out  from  the  depths  of  the 


89 

forest  where  we  had  been  hidden  and  began  the  march. 
From  the  time  that  we  had  begun  to  encounter  ambushes 
Joan  had  ridden  at  the  head  of  the  column,  and  she  took  this 
post  now.  By  the  time  we  had  gone  a  league  the  rain  and 
snow  had  turned  to  sleet,  and  under  the  impulse  of  the  storm- 
wind  it  lashed  my  face  like  whips,  and  I  envied  Joan  and  the 
knights,  who  could  close  their  visors  and  shut  up  their  heads 
in  their  helmets  as  in  a  box.  Now,  out  of  the  pitchy  darkness 
and  close  at  hand,  came  the  sharp  command — 

"Halt!" 

We  obeyed.  I  made  out  a  dim  mass  in  front  of  us  which 
might  be  a  body  of  horsemen,  but  one  could  not  be  sure.  A 
man  rode  up  and  said  to  Joan  in  a  tone  of  reproof — 

"  Well,  you  have  taken  your  time,  truly.  And  what  have 
you  found  out?  Is  she  still  behind  us,  or  in  front  ?" 

Joan  answered  in  a  level  voice — 

"  She  is  still  behind." 

This  news  softened  the  stranger's  tone.     He  said — 

"  If  you  know  that  to  be  true,  you  have  not  lost  your  time, 
Captain.  But  are  you  sure  ?  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  seen  her." 

"  Seen  her  !     Seen  the  Virgin  herself  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  in  her  camp." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  Captain  Raymond,  I  ask  you  to  pardon 
me  for  speaking  in  that  tone  just  now.  You  have  per 
formed  a  daring  and  admirable  service.  Where  was  she 
camped  ?" 

"  In  the  forest,  not  more  than  a  league  from  here." 

"  Good  !  I  was  afraid  we  might  be  still  behind  her,  but 
now  that  we  know  she  is  behind  us,  everything  is  safe.  She 
is  our  game.  We  will  hang  her.  You  shall  hang  her  your 
self.  No  one  has  so  well  earned  the  privilege  of  abolishing 
this  pestilent  limb  of  Satan." 

"  I  do  not  know  how  to  thank  you  sufficiently.  If  we  catch 
her,  I—" 

"  If  !  I  will  take  care  of  that ;  give  yourself  no  uneasiness. 
All  I  want  is  just  a  look  at  her,  to  see  what  the  imp  is  like 


90 

that  has  been  able  to  make  all  this  noise,  then  you  and  the 
halter  may  have  her.  How  many  men  has  she  ?" 

"  I  counted  but  eighteen,  but  she  may  have  had  two  or  three 
pickets  out." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  It  won't  be  a  mouthful  for  my  force.  Is  it 
true  that  she  is  only  a  girl  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  she  is  not  more  than  seventeen." 

"  It  passes  belief  !     Is  she  robust,  or  slender  ?" 

"  Slender." 

The  officer  pondered  a  moment  or  two,  then  he  said : 

"  Was  she  preparing  to  break  camp  ?" 

"  Not  when  I  had  my  last  glimpse  of  her." 

"  What  was  she  doing  ?" 

"  She  was  talking  quietly  with  an  officer." 

"  Quietly  ?     Not  giving  orders  ?" 

"  No,  talking  as  quietly  as  we  are  now." 

"  That  is  good.  She  is  feeling  a  false  security.  She  would 
have  been  restless  and  fussy  else — it  is  the  way  of  her  sex 
when  danger  is  about.  As  she  was  making  no  preparation 
to  break  camp, — 

"She  certainly  was  not  when  I  saw  her  last." 

" — and  was  chatting  quietly  and  at  her  ease,  it  means  that 
this  weather  is  not  to  her  taste.  Night-marching  in  sleet  and 
wind  is  not  for  chits  of  seventeen.  No  ;  she  will  stay  where 
she  is.  She  has  my  thanks.  We  will  camp,  ourselves  ;  here 
is  as  good  a  place  as  any.  Let  us  get  about  it." 

"  If  you  command  it — certainly.  But  she  has  two  knights 
with  her.  They  might  force  her  to  march,  particularly  if  the 
weather  should  improve." 

I  was  scared,  and  impatient  to  be  getting  out  of  this  peril, 
and  it  distressed  and  worried  me  to  have  Joan  apparently  set 
herself  to  work  to  make  delay  and  increase  the  danger — still, 
I  thought  she  probably  knew  better  than  I  what  to  do.  The 
officer  said — 

"  Well,  in  that  case  we  are  here  to  block  the  way." 

"Yes,  if  they  come  this  way.  But  if  they  should  send  out 
spies,  and  find  out  enough  to  make  them  want  to  try  for  the 


bridge  through  the  woods  ?  Is  it  best  to  allow  the  bridge  to 
stand  ?" 

It  made  me  shiver  to  hear  her. 

The  officer  considered  a  while,  then  said  : 

"  It  might  be  well  enough  to  send  a  force  to  destroy  the 
bridge.  I  was  intending  to  occupy  it  with  the  whole  com 
mand,  but  that  is  not  necessary  now." 

Joan  said,  tranquilly — 

"  With  your  permission,  I  will  go  and  destroy  it  myself." 

Ah,  now  I  saw  her  idea,  and  was  glad  she  had  had  the 
cleverness  to  invent  it  and  the  ability  to  keep  her  head  cool 
and  think  of  it  in  that  tight  place.  The  officer  replied — 

"You  have  it,  Captain,  and  my  thanks.  With  you  to  do 
it,  it  will  be  well  done ;  I  could  send  another  in  your  place, 
but  not  a  better." 

They  saluted,  and  we  moved  forward.  I  breathed  freer. 
A  dozen  times  I  had  imagined  I  heard  the  hoof-beats  of  the 
real  Captain  Raymond's  troop  arriving  behind  us,  and  had 
been  sitting  on  pins  and  needles  all  the  while  that  that  con 
versation  was  dragging  along.  I  breathed  freer,  but  was  still 
not  comfortable,  for  Joan  had  given  only  the  simple  com 
mand,  "  Forward !"  Consequently  we  moved  in  a  walk. 
Moved  in  a  dead  walk  past  a  dim  and  lengthening  column  of 
enemies  at  our  side.  The  suspense  was  exhausting,  yet  it 
lasted  but  a  short  while,  for  when  the  enemy's  bugles  sang 
the  "Dismount!"  Joan  gave  the  word  to  trot,  and  that  was  a 
great  relief  to  me.  She  was  always  at  herself,  you  see.  Before 
the  command  to  dismount  had  been  given,  somebody  might 
have  wanted  the  countersign  somewhere  along  that  line  if  we 
came  flying  by  at  speed,  but  now  we  seemed  to  be  on  our  way 
to  our  allotted  camping  position,  so  we  were  allowed  to  pass 
unchallenged.  The  further  we  went  the  more  formidable  was 
the  strength  revealed  by  the  hostile  force.  Perhaps  it  was 
only  a  hundred  or  two,  but  to  me  it  seemed  a  thousand. 
When  we  passed  the  last  of  these  people  I  was  thankful,  and 
the  deeper  we  ploughed  into  the  darkness  beyond  them  the 
better  I  felt.  I  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  feeling  good,  for 


an  hour ;  then  we  found  the  bridge  still  standing,  and  I  felt 
entirely  good.  We  crossed  it  and  destroyed  it,  and  then  I 
felt — but  I  cannot  describe  what  I  felt.  One  has  to  feel  it 
himself  in  order  to  know  what  it  is  like. 

We  had  expected  to  hear  the  rush  of  a  pursuing  force  be 
hind  us,  for  we  thought  that  the  real  Captain  Raymond  would 
arrive  and  suggest  that  perhaps  the  troop  that  had  been  mis 
taken  for  his  belonged  to  the  Virgin  of  Vaucouleurs  ;  but  he 
must  have  been  delayed  seriously,  for  when  we  resumed  our 
inarch  beyond  the  river  there  were  no  sounds  behind  us  ex 
cept  those  which  the  storm  was  furnishing. 

I  said  that  Joan  had  harvested  a  good  many  compliments 
intended  for  Captain  Raymond,  and  that  he  would  find  noth 
ing  of  a  crop  left  but  a  dry  stubble  of  reprimands  when  he 
got  back,  and  a  commander  just  in  the  humor  to  superintend 
the  gathering  of  it  in. 

Joan  said  : 

"  It  will  be  as  you  say,  no  doubt ;  for  the  commander  took 
a  troop  for  granted,  in  the  night  and  unchallenged,  and  would 
have  camped  without  sending  a  force  to  destroy  the  bridge  if 
he  had  been  left  unadvised,  and  none  are  so  ready  to  find 
fault  with  others  as  those  who  do  things  worthy  of  blame 
themselves." 

The  Sieur  Bertrand  was  amused  at  Joan's  naive  way  of  re 
ferring  to  her  advice  as  if  it  had  been  a  valuable  present  to  a 
hostile  leader  who  was  saved  by  it  from  making  a  censurable 
blunder  of  omission,  and  then  he  went  on  to  admire  how  in 
geniously  she  had  deceived  that  man  and  yet  had  not  told 
him  anything  that  was  not  the  truth.  This  troubled  Joan, 
and  she  said — 

"  I  thought  he  was  deceiving  himself.  I  forbore  to  tell  him 
lies,  for  that  would  have  been  wrong ;  but  if  my  truths  de 
ceived  him,  perhaps  that  made  them  lies,  and  I  am  to  blame. 
I  would  God  I  knew  if  I  have  done  wrong." 

She  was  assured  that  she  had  done  right,  and  that  in  the 
perils  and  necessities  of  war  deceptions  that  help  one's  own 
cause  and  hurt  the  enemy's  were  always  permissible ;  but  she 


JOAN    REPRIMANDS   THE   CONSPIRATORS 


93 

was  not  quite  satisfied  with  that,  and  thought  that  even  when 
a  great  cause  was  in  danger  one  ought  to  have  the  privilege 
of  trying  honorable  ways  first.  Jean  said — 

"  Joan,  you  told  us  yourself  that  you  were  going  to  Uncle 
Laxart's  to  nurse  his  wife,  but  you  didn't  say  you  were  going 
further,  yet  you  did  go  on  to  Vaucouleurs.  There  !" 

"  I  see,  now,"  said  Joan,  sorrowfully,  "  I  told  no  lie,  yet  I 
deceived.  I  had  tried  all  other  ways  first,  but  I  could  not 
get  away,  and  I  had  to  get  away.  My  mission  required  it.  I 
did  wrong,  I  think,  and  am  to  blame." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  turning  the  matter  over  in  her 
mind,  then  she  added,  with  quiet  decision,  "  But  the  thing 
itself  was  right,  and  I  would  do  it  again." 

It  seemed  an  over-nice  distinction,  but  nobody  said  any 
thing.  If  we  had  known  her  as  well  as  she  knew  herself, 
and  as  her  later  history  revealed  her  to  us,  we  should  have 
perceived  that  she  had  a  clear  meaning  there,  and  that  her 
position  was  not  identical  with  ours,  as  we  were  supposing, 
but  occupied  a  higher  plane.  She  would  sacrifice  herself — 
and  her  best  self;  that  is,  her  truthfulness  —  to  save  her 
cause  ;  but  only  that :  she  would  not  buy  her  life  at  that  cost ; 
whereas  our  war-ethics  permitted  the  purchase  of  our  lives,  or 
any  mere  military  advantage,  small  or  great,  by  deception. 
Her  saying  seemed  a  commonplace  at  that  time,  the  essence 
of  its  meaning  escaping  us ;  but  one  sees,  now,  that  it  con 
tained  a  principle  which  lifted  it  above  that  and  made  it  great 
and  fine. 

Presently  the  wind  died  down,  the  sleet  stopped  falling, 
and  the  cold  was  less  severe.  The  road  was  become  a  bog, 
and  the  horses  labored  through  it  at  a  walk — they  could  do 
no  better.  As  the  heavy  time  wore  on,  exhaustion  overcame 
us,  and  we  slept  in  our  saddles.  Not  even  the  dangers  that 
threatened  us  could  keep  us  awake. 

This  tenth  night  seemed  longer  than  any  of  the  others,  and  of 
course  it  was  the  hardest,  because  we  had  been  accumulating 
fatigue  from  the  beginning,  and  had  more  of  it  on  hand  now 
than  at  any  previous  time.  But  we  were  not  molested  again. 


94 

When  the  dull  dawn  came  at  last  we  saw  a  river  before  us 
and  we  knew  it  was  the  Loire  ;  we  entered  the  town  of  Gien, 
and  knew  we  were  in  a  friendly  land,  with  the  hostiles  all  be 
hind  us.  That  was  a  glad  morning  for  us. 

We  were  a  worn  and  bedraggled  and  shabby-looking  troop; 
and  still,  as  always,  Joan  was  the  freshest  of  us  all,  in  both 
body  and  spirits.  We  had  averaged  above  thirteen  leagues  a 
night,  by  tortuous  and  wretched  roads.  It  was  a  remarkable 
march,  and  shows  what  men  can  do  when  they  have  a  leader 
with  a  determined  purpose  and  a  resolution  that  never  flags. 


CHAPTER   V 

WE  rested  and  otherwise  refreshed  ourselves  two  or  three 
hours  at  Gien,  but  by  that  time  the  news  was  abroad  that  the 
young  girl  commissioned  of  God  to  deliver  France  was  come  ; 
wherefore,  such  a  press  of  people  flocked  to  our  quarters  to 
get  sight  of  her  that  it  seemed  best  to  seek  a  quieter  place ; 
so  we  pushed  on  and  halted  at  a  small  village  called  Fier- 
bois. 

We  were  now  within  six  leagues  of  the  King,  who  was  at 
the  Castle  of  Chinon.  Joan  dictated  a  letter  to  him  at  once, 
and  I  wrote  it.  In  it  she  said  she  had  come  a  hundred  and 
fifty  leagues  to  bring  him  good  news,  and  begged  the  privilege 
of  delivering  it  in  person.  She  added  that  although  she  had 
never  seen  him  she  would  know  him  in  any  disguise  and 
would  point  him  out. 

The  two  knights  rode  away  at  once  with  the  letter.  The 
troop  slept  all  the  afternoon,  and  after  supper  we  felt  pretty 
fresh  and  fine,  especially  our  little  group  of  young  Domre- 
mians.  We  had  the  comfortable  tap-room  of  the  village  inn 
to  ourselves,  and  for  the  first  time  in  ten  unspeakably  long 
days  were  exempt  from  bodings  and  terrors  and  hardships 
and  fatiguing  labors.  The  Paladin  was  suddenly  become  his 
ancient  self  again,  and  was  swaggering  up  and  down,  a  very 
monument  of  self-complacency.  Noel  Rainguesson  said — 

"  I  think  it  is  wonderful,  the  way  he  has  brought  us 
through." 

"  Who  ?"  asked  Joan. 

"Why,  the  Paladin." 

The  Paladin  seemed  not  to  hear. 

"  What  had  he  to  do  with  it  ?"  asked  Pierre  d'Arc. 


"Everything.  It  was  nothing  but  Joan's  confidence  in  his 
discretion  that  enabled  her  to  keep  up  her  heart.  She  could 
depend  on  us  and  on  herself  for  valor,  but  discretion  is  the 
winning  thing  in  war,  after  all ;  discretion  is  the  rarest  and 
loftiest  of  qualities,  and  he  has  got  more  of  it  than  any  other 
man  in  France — more  of  it,  perhaps,  than  any  other  sixty 
men  in  France." 

"  Now  you  are  getting  ready  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself, 
Noel  Rainguesson,"  said  the  Paladin,  "and  you  want  to  coil 
some  of  that  long  tongue  of  yours  around  your  neck  and  stick 
the  end  of  it  in  your  ear,  then  you'll  be  the  less  likely  to  get 
into  trouble." 

"  I  didn't  know  he  had  more  discretion  than  other  people," 
said  Pierre,  "  for  discretion  argues  brains,  and  he  hasn't  any 
more  brains  than  the  rest  of  us,  in  my  opinion." 

"  No,  you  are  wrong  there.  Discretion  hasn't  anything  to 
do  with  brains ;  brains  are  an  obstruction  to  it,  for  it  does 
not  reason,  it  feels.  Perfect  discretion  means  absence  of 
brains.  Discretion  is  a  quality  of  the  heart — solely  a  quality 
of  the  heart ;  it  acts  upon  us  through  feeling.  We  know  this 
because  if  it  were  an  intellectual  quality  it  would  only  per 
ceive  a  danger,  for  instance,  where  a  danger  exists ;  where 
as-" 

"Hear  him  twaddle  —  the  damned  idiot!"  muttered  the 
Paladin. 

" — whereas,  it  being  purely  a  quality  of  the  heart,  and  pro 
ceeding  by  feeling,  not  reason,  its  reach  is  correspondingly 
wider  and  sublimer,  enabling  it  to  perceive  and  avoid  dangers 
that  haven't  any  existence  at  all;  as  for  instance  that  night 
in  the  fog,  when  the  Paladin  took  his  horse's  ears  for  hostile 
lances  and  got  off  and  climbed  a  tree — " 

"  It's  a  lie  !  a  lie  without  shadow  of  foundation,  and  I  call 
upon  you  all  to  beware  how  you  give  credence  to  the  mali 
cious  inventions  of  this  ramshackle  slander-mill  that  has  been 
doing  its  best  to  destroy  my  character  for  years,  and  will 
grind  up  your  own  reputations  for  you,  next.  I  got  off  to 
tighten  my  saddle-girth — I  wish  I  may  die  in  my  tracks  if  it 


97 

isn't  so — and  whoever  wants  to  believe  it  can,  and  whoever 
don't,  can  let  it  alone." 

"  There,  that  is  the  way  with  him,  you  see  ;  he  never  can 
discuss  a  theme  temperately,  but  always  flies  off  the  handle 
and  becomes  disagreeable.  And  you  notice  his  defect  of 
memory.  He  remembers  getting  off  his  horse,  but  forgets  all 
the  rest,  even  the  tree.  But  that  is  natural ;  he  would  re 
member  getting  off  the  horse  because  he  was  so  used  to  doing 
it.  He  always  did  it  when  there  was  an  alarm  and  the  clash 
of  arms  at  the  front." 

"  Why  did  he  choose  that  time  for  it  ?"  asked  Jean. 

"  I  don't  know.  To  tighten  up  his  girth,  he  thinks,  to 
climb  a  tree,  /think;  I  saw  him  climb  nine  trees  in  a  single 
night." 

"  You  saw  nothing  of  the  kind  !  A  person  that  can  lie  like 
that  deserves  no  one's  respect.  I  ask  you  all  to  answer  me. 
Do  you  believe  what  this  reptile  has  said  ?" 

All  seemed  embarrassed,  and  only  Pierre  replied.  He  said, 
hesitatingly — 

"  I — well,  I  hardly  know  what  to  say.  It  is  a  delicate  situ 
ation.  It  seems  offensive  to  refuse  to  believe  a  person  when 
he  makes  so  direct  a  statement,  and  yet  I  am  obliged  to  say, 
rude  as  it  may  appear,  that  I  am  not  able  to  believe  the  wrhole 
of  it  —  no,  I  am  not  able  to  believe  that  you  climbed  nine 
trees." 

"  There  !"  cried  the  Paladin ;  "  now  what  do  you  think  of 
yourself,  Noel  Rainguesson  ?  How  many  do  you  believe  I 
climbed,  Pierre  ?" 

"  Only  eight." 

The  laughter  that  followed  inflamed  the  Paladin's  anger  to 
white  heat,  and  he  said — 

"  I  bide  my  time — I  bide  my  time.  I  will  reckon  with  you 
all,  I  promise  you  that !" 

"  Don't  get  him  started,"  Noel  pleaded ;  "he  is  a  perfect  lion 
when  he  gets  started.  I  saw  enough  to  teach  me  that,  after 
the  third  skirmish.  After  it  was  over  I  saw  him  come  out  of 
the  bushes  and  attack  a  dead  man  single-handed." 


"  It  is  another  lie ;  and  I  give  you  fair  warning  that  you 
are  going  too  far.  You  will  see  me  attack  a  live  one  if  you 
are  not  careful." 

"  Meaning  me,  of  course.  This  wounds  me  more  than  any 
number  of  injurious  and  unkind  speeches  could  do.  Ingrati 
tude  to  one's  benefactor— 

"  Benefactor  ?  What  do  I  owe  you,  I  should  like  to 
know  ?" 

"  You  owe  me  your  life.  I  stood  between  the  trees  and 
the  foe,  and  kept  hundreds  and  thousands  of  the  enemy  at 
bay  when  they  were  thirsting  for  your  blood.  And  I  did  not 
do  it  to  display  my  daring,  I  did  it  because  I  loved  you  and 
could  not  live  without  you." 

"There — you  have  said  enough!  I  will  not  stay  here  to 
listen  to  these  infamies.  I  can  endure  your  lies,  but  not 
your  love.  Keep  that  corruption  for  somebody  with  a 
stronger  stomach  than  mine.  And  I  want  to  say  this,  before 
I  go.  That  you  people's  small  performances  might  appear 
the  better  and  win  you  the  more  glory,  I  hid  my  own  deeds 
through  all  the  march.  I  went  always  to  the  front,  where 
the  fighting  was  thickest,  to  be  remote  from  you,  in  order  that 
you  might  not  see  and  be  discouraged  by  the  things  I  did  to 
the  enemy.  It  was  my  purpose  to  keep  this  a  secret  in  my 
own  breast,  but  you  force  me  to  reveal  it.  If  you  ask  for  my 
witnesses,  yonder  they  lie,  on  the  road  we  have  come.  I 
found  that  road  mud,  I  paved  it  with  corpses.  I  found  that 
country  sterile,  1  fertilized  it  with  blood.  Time  and  again  I 
was  urged  to  go  to  the  rear  because  the  command  could  not 
proceed  on  account  of  my  dead.  And  yet  you,  you  miscreant, 
accuse  me  of  climbing  trees  !  Pah  !" 

And  he  strode  out,  with  a  lofty  air,  for  the  recital  of  his 
imaginary  deeds  had  already  set  him  up  again  and  made  him 
feel  good. 

Next  day  we  mounted  and  faced  toward  Chinon.  Orleans 
was  at  our  back,  now,  and  close  by,  lying  in  the  strangling 
grip  of  the  English ;  soon,  please  God,  we  would  face  about 
and  go  to  their  relief.  From  Gien  the  news  had  spread  to 


99 

Orleans  that  the  peasant  Maid  of  Vaucouleurs  was  on  her 
way,  divinely  commissioned  to  raise  "the  siege.  The  news 
made  a  great  excitement  and  raised  a  great  hope — the  first 
breath  of  hope  those  poor  souls  had  breathed  in  five  months. 
They  sent  commissioners  at  once  to  the  King  to  beg  him  to 
consider  this  matter,  and  not  throw  this  help  lightly  away. 
These  commissioners  were  already  at  Chinon  by  this  time. 

When  we  were  half-way  to  Chinon  we  happened  upon  yet 
one  more  squad  of  enemies.  They  burst  suddenly  out  of  the 
woods,  and  in  considerable  force,  too ;  but  we  were  not  the 
apprentices  we  were  ten  or  twelve  days  before ;  no,  we  were 
seasoned  to  this  kind  of  adventure  now ;  our  hearts  did  not 
jump  into  our  throats  and  our  weapons  tremble  in  our  hands. 
We  had  learned  to  be  always  in  battle  array,  always  alert,  and 
always  ready  to  deal  with  any  emergency  that  might  turn  up. 
We  were  no  more  dismayed  by  the  sight  of  those  people 
than  our  commander  was.  Before  they  could  form,  Joan  had 
delivered  the  order,  "  Forward !"  and  we  were  down  upon 
them  with  a  rush.  They  stood  no  chance ;  they  turned  tail 
and  scattered,  we  ploughing  through  them  as  if  they  had  been 
men  of  straw.  That  was  our  last  ambuscade,  and  it  was 
probably  laid  for  us  by  that  treacherous  rascal  the  King's 
own  minister  and  favorite,  De  la  Tremouille. 

We  housed  ourselves  in  an  inn,  and  soon  the  town  came 
flocking  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  Maid. 

"  Ah,  the  tedious  King  and  his  tedious  people  !  Our  two 
good  knights  came  presently,  their  patience  well  wearied, 
and  reported.  They  and  we  reverently  stood — as  becomes 
persons  who  are  in  the  presence  of  Kings  and  the  superiors 
of  Kings — until  Joan,  troubled  by  this  mark  of  homage  and 
respect,  and  not  content  with  it  nor  yet  used  to  it,  although 
we  had  not  permitted  ourselves  to  do  otherwise  since  the  day 
she  prophesied  that  wretched  traitor's  death  and  he  was 
straightway  drowned,  thus  confirming  many  previous  signs 
that  she  was  indeed  an  ambassador  commissioned  of  God, 
commanded  us  to  sit;  then  the  Sieur  de  Metz  said  to 
Joan  : 


100 


"  The  King  has  got  the  letter,  but  they  will  not  let  us  have 
speech  with  him." 

"  Who  is  it  that  forbids  ?'' 

"  None  forbids,  but  there  be  three  or  four  that  are  nearest 
his  person— schemers  and  traitors  every  one — that  put  ob 
structions  in  the  way,  and  seek  all  ways,  by  lies  and  pretexts, 
to  make  delay.  Chiefest  of  these  are  Georges  de  la  Tre- 
mouille  and  that  plotting  fox  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims. 
While  they  keep  the  King  idle  and  in  bondage  to  his  sports 
and  follies,  they  are  great  and  their  importance  grows  ;  where 
as  if  ever  he  assert  himself  and  rise  and  strike  for  crown  and 
country  like  a  man,  their  reign  is  done.  So  they  but  thrive 
they  care  not  if  the  crown  go  to  destruction  and  the  King 
with  it." 

"  You  have  spoken  with  others  besides  these  ?" 

"  Not  of  the  Court,  no — the  Court  are  the  meek  slaves  of 
those  reptiles,  and  watch  their  mouths  and  their  actions, 
acting  as  they  act,  Chinking  as  they  think,  saying  as  they 
say :  wherefore  they  are  cold  to  us,  and  turn  aside  and  go 
another  way  when  we  appear.  But  we  have  spoken  with  the 
commissioners  from  Orleans.  They  said  with  heat:  '  It  is  a 
marvel  that  any  man  in  such  desperate  case  as  is  the  King 
can  moon  around  in  this  torpid  way,  and  see  his  all  go  to 
ruin  without  lifting  a  finger  to  stay  the  disaster.  What  a 
most  strange  spectacle  it  is  !  Here  he  is,  shut  up  in  this  wee 
corner  of  the  realm  like  a  rat  in  a  trap ;  his  royal  shelter  this 
huge  gloomy  tomb  of  a  castle,  with  wormy  rags  for  upholstery 
and  crippled  furniture  for  use,  a  very  house  of  desolation; 
in  his  treasury  forty  francs,  and  not  a  farthing  more,  God  be 
witness !  no  army,  nor  any  shadow  of  one  ;  and  by  contrast 
with  this  hungry  poverty  you  behold  this  crownless  pauper 
and  his  shoals  of  fools  and  favorites  tricked  out  in  the  gaudi 
est  silks  and  velvets  you  shall  find  in  any  Court  in  Chris 
tendom.  And  look  you,  he  knows  that  when  our  city  falls — 
as  fall  it  surely  will  except  succor  come  swiftly — France  falls ; 
he  knows  that  when  that  day  comes  he  will  be  an  outlaw 
and  a  fugitive,  and  that  behind  him  the  English  flag  will  float 


101 


unchallenged  over  every  acre  of  his  great  heritage  ;  he  knows 
these  things,  he  knows  that  our  faithful  city  is  fighting  all 
solitary  and  alone  against  disease,  starvation,  and  the  sword 
to  stay  this  awful  calamity,  yet  he  will  not  strike  one  blow  to 
save  her,  he  will  not  hear  our  prayers,  he  will  not  even  look 
upon  our  faces.'  That  is  what  the  commissioners  said,  and 
they  are  in  despair." 

Joan  said,  gently— 

"  It  is  pity,  but  they  must  not  despair.  The  Dauphin  will 
hear  them  presently.  Tell  them  so." 

She  almost  always  called  the  King  the  Dauphin.  To  her 
mind  he  was  not  King  yet,  not  being  crowned. 

"  We  will  tell  them  so,  and  it  will  content  them,  for  they 
believe  you  come  from  God.  The  Archbishop  and  his  con 
federate  have  for  backer  that  veteran  soldier  Raoul  de  Gau- 
court,  Grand  Master  of  the  Palace,  a  worthy  man  but  simply 
a  soldier,  with  no  head  for  any  greater  matter.  He  cannot 
make  out  to  see  how  a  country  girl,  ignorant  of  war,  can  take 
a  sword  in  her  small  hand  and  win  victories  where  the  trained 
generals  of  France  have  looked  for  defeats  only,  for  fifty 
years — and  always  found  them.  And  so  he  lifts  his  frosty 
mustache  and  scoffs." 

"When  God  fights  it  is  but  small  matter  whether  the  hand 
that  bears  His  sword  is  big  or  little.  He  will  perceive  this 
in  time.  Is  there  none  in  that  Castle  of  Chinon  who  favors 
us?" 

"Yes,  the  King's  mother-in-law,  Yolande,  Queen  of  Sicily, 
who  is  wise  and  good.  She  spoke  with  the  Sieur  Bertrand." 

"  She  favors  us,  and  she  hates  those  others,  the  King's  be- 
guilers,"  said  Bertrand.  "  She  was  full  of  interest,  and  asked 
a  thousand  questions,  all  of  which  I  answered  according  to 
my  ability.  Then  she  sat  thinking  over  these  replies  until  I 
thought  she  was  lost  in  a  dream  and  would  wake  no  more. 
But  it  was  not  so.  At  last  she  said,  slowly,  and  as  if  she 
were  talking  to  herself  :  '  A  child  of  seventeen— a  girl — coun 
try  bred- — untaught — ignorant  of  war,  the  use  of  arms,  and 
the  conduct  of  battles — modest,  gentle,  shrinking — yet  throws 


102 


away  her  shepherd's  crook  and  clothes  herself  in  steel,  and 
fights  her  way  through  a  hundred  and  fifty  leagues  of  hostile 
territory,  never  losing  heart  or  hope  and  never  showing  fear, 
and  comes — she  to  whom  a  king  must  be  a  dread  and  awful 
presence — and  will  stand  up  before  such  an  one  and  say,  Be 
not  afraid,  God  has  sent  me  to  save  you !  Ah,  whence  could 
come  a  courage  and  conviction  so  sublime  as  this  but  from 
very  God  Himself !'  She  was  silent  again  awhile,  thinking, 
and  making  up  her  mind  -,  then  she  said,  *  And  whether  she 
comes  of  God  or  no,  there  is  that  in  her  heart  that  raises  her 
above  men — high  above  all  men  that  breathe  in  France  to 
day — for  in  her  is  that  mysterious  something  that  puts  heart 
into  soldiers,  and  turns  mobs  of  cowards  into  armies  of  fight 
ers  that  forget  what  fear  is  when  they  are  in  that  presence — 
fighters  who  go  into  battle  with  joy  in  their  eyes  and  songs  on 
their  lips,  and  sweep  over  the  field  like  a  storm — that  is  the 
spirit  that  can  save  France,  and  that  alone,  come  it  whence  it 
may  !  It  is  in  her,  I  do  truly  believe,  for  what  else  could  have 
borne  up  that  child  on  that  great  march,  and  made  her  de 
spise  its  dangers  and  fatigues  ?  The  King  must  see  her  face 
to  face — and  shall !'  She  dismissed  me  with  those  good  words, 
and  I  know  her  promise  will  be  kept.  They  will  delay  her  all 
they  can — those  animals — but  she  will  not  fail,  in  the  end." 

"  Would  she  were  King !"  said  the  other  knight,  fervently. 
"  For  there  is  little  hope  that  the  King  himself  can  be  stirred 
out  of  his  lethargy.  He  is  wholly  without  hope,  and  is  only 
thinking  of  throwing  away  everything  and  flying  to  some  for 
eign  land.  The  commissioners  say  there  is  a  spell  upon  him 
that  makes  him  hopeless — yes,  and  that  it  is  shut  up  in  a  mys 
tery  which  they  cannot  fathom." 

"  I  know  the  mystery,"  said  Joan,  with  quiet  confidence  ; 
"I  know  it,  and  he  knows  it,  but  no  other  but  God.  When  I 
see  him  I  will  tell  him  a  secret  that  will  drive  away  his  trouble, 
then  he  will  hold  up  his  head  again." 

I  was  miserable  with  curiosity  to  know  what  it  was  that  she 
would  tell  him,  but  she  did  not  say,  and  I  did  not  expect  she 
would.  She  was  but  a  child,  it  is  true ;  but  she  was  not  a 


IQ3 

chatterer  to  tell  great  matters  and  make  herself  important  to 
little  people  ;  no,  she  was  reserved,  and  kept  things  to  herself, 
as  the  truly  great  always  do. 

The  next  day  Queen  Yolande  got  one  victory  over  the 
King's  keepers,  for  in  spite  of  their  protestations  and  obstruc 
tions  she  procured  an  audience  for  our  two  knights,  and  they 
made  the  most  they  could  out  of  their  opportunity.  They 
told  the  King  what  a  spotless  and  beautiful  character  Joan 
was,  and  how  great  and  noble  a  spirt  animated  her,  and  they 
implored  him  to  trust  in  her,  believe  in  her,  and  have  faith 
that  she  was  sent  to  save  France.  They  begged  him  to  con 
sent  to  see  her.  He  was  strongly  moved  to  do  this,  and  prom 
ised  that  he  would  not  drop  the  matter  out  of  his  mind,  but 
would  consult  with  his  council  about  it.  This  began  to  look 
encouraging.  Two  hours  later  there  was  a  great  stir  below, 
and  the  inn-keeper  came  flying  up  to  say  a  commission  of 
illustrious  ecclesiastics  was  come  from  the  King — from  the 
King  his  very  self,  understand  ! — think  of  this  vast  honor  to 
his  humble  little  hostelry ! — and  he  was  so  overcome  with 
the  glory  of  it  that  he  could  hardly  find  breath  enough  in  his 
excited  body  to  put  the  facts  into  words.  They  were  come 
from  the  King  to  speak  with  the  Maid  of  Vaucouleurs. 
Then  he  flew  down-stairs,  and  presently  appeared  again,  back 
ing  into  the  room  and  bowing  to  the  ground  with  every  step, 
in  front  of  four  imposing  and  austere  bishops  and  their  train 
of  servants. 

Joan  rose,  and  we  all  stood.  The  bishops  took  seats,  and 
for  a  while  no  word  was  said,  for  it  was  their  prerogative  to 
speak  first,  and  they  were  so  astonished  to  see  what  a  child 
it  was  that  was  making  such  a  noise  in  the  world  and  degrad 
ing  personages  of  their  dignity  to  the  base  function  of  ambas 
sadors  to  her  in  her  plebeian  tavern,  that  they  could  not  find 
any  words  to  say,  at  first.  Then  presently  their  spokesman 
told  Joan  they  were  aware  that  she  had  a  message  for  the 
King,  wherefore  she  was  now  commanded  to  put  it  into 
words,  briefly  and  without  waste  of  time  or  embroideries  of 
speech. 


IO4 


As  for  me,  I  could  hardly  contain  my  joy — our  message 
was  to  reach  the  King  at  last !  And  there  was  the  same  joy 
and  pride  and  exultation  in  the  faces  of  our  knights,  too,  and 
in  those  of  Joan's  brothers.  And  I  knew  that  they  were  all 
praying — as  I  was — that  the  awe  which  we  felt  in  the  pres 
ence  of  these  great  dignitaries,  and  which  would  have  tied 
our  tongues  and  locked  our  jaws,  would  not  affect  her  in  the 
like  degree,  but  that  she  would  be  enabled  to  word  her  mes 
sage  well,  and  with  little  stumbling,  and  so  make  a  favorable 
impression  here,  where  it  would  be  so  valuable  and  so  impor 
tant. 

Ah  dear,  how  little  we  were  expecting  what  happened  then  ! 
We  were  aghast  to  hear  her  say  what  she  said.  She  was 
standing  in  a  reverent  attitude,  with  her  head  down  and  her 
hands  clasped  in  front  of  her ;  for  she  was  always  reverent 
toward  the  consecrated  servants  of  God.  When  the  spokes 
man  had  finished,  she  raised  her  head  and  set  her  calm  eye 
on  those  faces,  not  any  more  disturbed  by  their  state  and 
grandeur  than  a  princess  would  have  been,  and  said,  with  all 
her  ordinary  simplicity  and  modesty  of  voice  and  manner  : 

"Ye  will  forgive  me,  reverend  sirs,  but  I  have  no  message 
save  for  the  King's  ear  alone." 

Those  surprised  men  were  dumb  for  a  moment,  and  their 
faces  flushed  darkly  ;  then  the  spokesman  said  : 

"  Hark  ye,  do  you  fling  the  King's  command  in  his  face  and 
refuse  to  deliver  this  message  of  yours  to  his  servants  ap 
pointed  to  receive  it  ?" 

"  God  has  appointed  one  to  receive  it,  and  another's  com 
mandment  may  not  take  precedence  of  that.  I  pray  you  let 
me  have  speech  of  his  grace  the  Dauphin." 

"  Forbear  this  folly,  and  come  at  your  message  !  Deliver  it, 
and  waste  no  more  time  about  it." 

"  You  err  indeed,  most  reverend  fathers  in  God,  and  it  is 
not  well.  I  am  not  come  hither  to  talk,  but  to  deliver  Orleans, 
and  lead  the  Dauphin  to  his  good  city  of  Rheims,  and  set  the 
crown  upon  his  head." 

"  Is  that  the  message  you  send  to  the  King  ?" 


105 

But  Joan  only  said,  in  the  simple  fashion  which  was  her  wont : 

"Ye  will  pardon  me  for  reminding  you  again — but  I  have 
no  message  to  send  to  any  one." 

The  King's  messengers  rose  in  deep  anger  and  swept  out 
of  the  place  without  further  words,  we  and  Joan  kneeling  as 
they  passed. 

Our  countenances  were  vacant,  our  hearts  full  of  a  sense  of 
disaster.  Our  precious  opportunity  was  thrown  away;  we 
could  not  understand  Joan's  conduct,  she  who  had  been  so, 
wise  until  this  fatal  hour.  At  last  the  Sieur  Bertran.d  found 
courage  to  ask  her  why  she  had  let  this  great  chance  to  get 
her  message  to  the  King  go  by. 

"  Who  sent  them  here  ?"  she  asked. 

"The  King." 

"  Who  moved  the  King  to  send  them  ?"  She  waited  for  an 
answer ;  none  came,  for  we  began  to  see  what  was  in  her 
mind  —  so  she  answered  herself :  "  The  Dauphin's  council 
moved  him  to  it.  Are  they  enemies  to  me  and  to  the  Dau 
phin's  weal,  or  are  they  friends?" 

"  Enemies,"  answered  the  Sieur  Bertrand. 

"  If  one  would  have  a  message  go  sound  and  ungarbled, 
does  one  choose  traitors  and  tricksters  to  send  it  by?" 

I  saw  that  we  had  been  fools,  and  she  wise.  They  saw  it 
too,  so  none  found  anything  to  say.  Then  she  went  on  : 

"They  had  but  small  wit  that  contrived  this  trap.  They 
thought  to  get  my  message  and  seem  to  deliver  it  straight, 
yet  deftly  twist  it  from  its  purpose.  You  know  that  one  part 
of  my  message  is  but  this — to  move  the  Dauphin  by  argu 
ment  and  reasonings  to  give  me  men-at-arms  and  send  me  to 
the  siege.  If  an  enemy  carried  these  in  the  right  words,  the 
exact  words,  and  no  word  missing,  yet  left  out  the  persua 
sions  of  gesture  and  supplicating  tone  and  beseeching  looks 
that  inform  the  words  and  make  them  live,  where  were  the 
value  of  that  argument — whom  could  it  convince  ?  Be  pa 
tient,  the  Dauphin  will  hear  me  presently ;  have  no  fear." 

The  Sieur  de  Metz  nodded  his  head  several  times,  and 
muttered  as  to  himself  : 


io6 


"  She  was  right  and  wise,  and  we  are  but  dull  fools,  when 
all  is  said." 

It  was  just  my  thought ;  I  could  have  said  it  myself  ;  and 
indeed  it  was  the  thought  of  all  there  present.  A  sort  of  awe 
crept  over  us,  to  think  how  that  untaught  girl,  taken  suddenly 
and  unprepared,  was  yet  able  to  penetrate  the  cunning  de 
vices  of  a  King's  trained  advisers  and  defeat  them.  Marvel 
ling  over  this,  and  astonished  at  it,  we  fell  silent  and  spoke 
no  more.  We  had  come  to  know  that  she  was  great  in  cour 
age,  fortitude,  endurance,  patience,  conviction,  fidelity  to  all 
duties — in  all  things,  indeed,  that  make  a  good  and  trusty 
soldier  and  perfect  him  for  his  post ;  now  we  were  beginning 
to  feel  that  maybe  there  were  greatnesses  in  her  brain  that 
were  even  greater  than  these  great  qualities  of  the  heart.  It 
set  us  thinking. 

What  Joan  did  that  day  bore  fruit  the  very  day  after. 
The  King  was  obliged  to  respect  the  spirit  of  a  young  girl 
who  could  hold  her  own  and  stand  her  ground  like  that,  and 
he  asserted  himself  sufficiently  to  put  his  respect  into  an  act 
instead  of  into  polite  and  empty  words.  He  moved  Joan  out 
of  that  poor  inn,  and  housed  her,  with  us  her  servants,  in  the 
Castle  of  Courdray,  personally  confiding  her  to  the  care  of 
Madame  de  Bellier,  wife  of  old  Raoul  de  Gaucourt,  Master  of 
the  Palace.  Of  course  this  royal  attention  had  an  immediate 
result :  all  the  great  lords  and  ladies  of  the  Court  began  to 
flock  there  to  see  and  listen  to  the  wonderful  girl-soldier  that 
all  the  world  was  talking  about,  and  who  had  answered  the 
King's  mandate  with  a  bland  refusal  to  obey.  Joan  charmed 
them  every  one  with  her  sweetness  and  simplicity  and  uncon 
scious  eloquence,  and  all  the  best  and  capablest  among  them 
recognized  that  there  was  an  indefinable  something  about 
her  that  testified  that  she  was  not  made  of  common  clay,  that 
she  was  built  on  a  grander  plan  than  the  mass  of  mankind, 
and  moved  on  a  loftier  plane.  These  spread  her  fame.  She 
always  made  friends  and  advocates  that  way;  neither  the  high 
nor  the  low  could  come  within  the  sound  of  her  voice  and  the 
sight  of  her  face  and  go  out  from  her  presence  indifferent. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WELL,  anything  to  make  delay.  The  King's  council  ad 
vised  him  against  arriving  at  a  decision  in  our  matter  too 
precipitately.  He  arrive  at  a  decision  too  precipitately !  So 
they  sent  a  committee  of  priests — always  priests — into  Lor 
raine  to  inquire  into  Joan's  character  and  history — a  matter 
which  would  consume  several  weeks,  of  course.  You  see 
how  fastidious  they  were.  It  was  as  if  people  should  come 
to  put  out  the  fire  when  a  man's  house  was  burning  down, 
and  they  waited  till  they  could  send  into  another  country  to 
find  out  if  he  had  always  kept  the  Sabbath  or  not,  before 
letting  him  try. 

So  the  days  poked  along ;  dreary  for  us  young  people  in 
some  ways,  but  not  in  all,  for  we  had  one  great  anticipation 
in  front  of  us ;  we  had  never  seen  a  king,  and  now  some  day 
we  should  have  that  prodigious  spectacle  to  see  and  to  treas 
ure  in  our  memories  all  our  lives ;  so  we  were  on  the  lookout, 
and  always  eager  and  watching  for  the  chance.  The  others 
were  doomed  to  wait  longer  than  I,  as  it  turned  out.  One 
day  great  news  came — the  Orleans  commissioners,  with  Yo- 
lande  and  our  knights,  had  at  last  turned  the  council's  posi 
tion  and  persuaded  the  King  to  see  Joan. 

Joan  received  the  immense  news  gratefully  but  without 
losing  her  head,  but  with  us  others  it  was  otherwise  ;  we  could 
not  eat  or  sleep  or  do  any  rational  thing  for  the  excitement 
and  the  glory  of  it.  During  two  days  our  pair  of  noble 
knights  were  in  distress  and  trepidation  on  Joan's  account, 
for  the  audience  was  to  be  at  night,  and  they  were  afraid  that 
Joan  would  be  so  paralyzed  by  the  glare  of  light  from  the  long 
files  of  torches,  the  solemn  pomps  and  ceremonies,  the  great 


io8 


concourse  of  renowned  personages,  the  brilliant  costumes, 
and  the  other  splendors  of  the  Court,  that  she,  a  simple  coun 
try  maid,  and  all  unused  to  such  things,  would  be  overcome 
by  these  terrors  and  make  a  piteous  failure. 

No  doubt  I  could  have  comforted  them,  but  I  was  not  free 
to  speak.  Would  Joan  be  disturbed  by  this  cheap  spectacle, 
this  tinsel  show,  with  its  small  King  and  his  butterfly  duke- 
lets  ? — she  who  had  spoken  face  to  face  with  the  princes  of 
heaven,  the  familiars  of  "God,  and  seen  their  retinue  of  an 
gels  stretching  back  into  the  remoteness  of  the  sky,  myriads 
upon  myriads,  like  a  measureless  fan  of  light,  a  glory  like  the 
glory  of  the  sun  streaming^  from  each  of  those  innumerable 
heads,  the  massed  radiance  filling  the  deeps  of  space  with  a 
blinding  splendor  ?  I  thought  not. 

Queen  Yolande  wanted  Joan  to  make  the  best  possible  im- 
pressiorf  upon  the  King  and  the  Court,  so  she  was  strenuous 
to  have  her  clothed  in  the  richest  stuffs,  wrought  upon  the 
princeliest  pattern,  and  set  off  with  jewels ;  but  in  that  she 
had  to  be  disappointed,  of  course,  Joan  not  being  persuadable 
to  it,  but  begging  to  be  simply  and  sincerely  dressed,  as  be 
came  a  servant  of  God,  and  one  sent  upon  a  mission  of  a  se 
rious  sort  and  grave  political  import.  So  then  the  gracious 
Queen  imagined  and  contrived  that  simple  and  witching  cos 
tume  which  I  have  described  to  you  so  many  times,  and  which 
I  cannot  think  of  even  now^in  my  dull  age  without  being 
moved  just  as  rhythmical  and  exquisite  music  moves  one ; 
for  that  was  music,  that  dress — that  is  what  it  was — music 
that  one  saw  with  the  eyes  and  felt  in  the  heart.  Yes,  she 
was  a  poem,  she  was  a  dream,  she  was  a  spirit  when  she  was 
clothed  in  that. 

She  kept  that  raiment  always,  and  wore  it  several  times 
upon  occasions  of  state,  and  it  is  preserved  to  this  day  in  the 
Treasury  of  Orleans,  with  two  of  her  swords,  and  her  banner, 
and  other  things  now  sacred  because  they  had  belonged  to 
her. 

At  the  appointed  time  the  Count  of  Vendome,  a  great  lord 
of  the  court,  came  richly  clothed,  with  his  train  of  servants 


io9 

and  assistants,  to  conduct  Joan  to  the  King,  and  the  two 
knights  and  I  went  with  her,  being  entitled  to  this  privilege 
by  reason  of  our  official  positions  near  her  person. 

When  we  entered  the  great  audience  hall,  there  it  all  was, 
just  as  I  have  aheady  painted  it.  Here  were  ranks  of  guards 
in  shining  armor  and  with  polished  halberds  ;  two  sides  of  the 
hall  were  like  flower-gardens  for  variety  of  color  and  the  mag 
nificence  of  the  costumes ;  light  streamed  upon  these  masses 
of  color  from  two  hundred  and  fifty  flambeaux.  There  was 
a  wide  free  space  down  the  middle  of  the  hall,  and  at  the 
end  of  it  was  a  throne  royally  canopied,  and  upon  it  sat  a 
crowned  and  sceptred  figure  nobly  clothed  and  blazing  with 
jewels. 

It  is  true  that  Joan  had  been  hindered  and  put  off  a  good 
while,  but  now  that  she  was  admitted  to  an  audience  at  last, 
she  was  received-  with  honors  granted  to  only  the  greatest 
personages.  At  the  entrance  door  stood  four  heralds  in  a 
row,  in  splendid  tabards,  with  long  slender  silver  trumpets  at 
their  mouths,  with  square  silken  banners  depending  from  them 
embroidered  with  the  arms  of  France.  As  Joan  and  the  Count 
passed  by,  these  trumpets  gave  forth  in  unison  one  long  rich 
note,  and  as  we  moved  down  the  hall  under  the  pictured  and 
gilded  vaulting,  this  was  repeated  at  every  fifty  feet  of  our 
progress — six  times  in  all.  It  made  our  good  knights  proud 
and  happy,  and  they  held  themselves  erect,  and  stiffened  their 
stride,  and  looked  fine  and  soldierly.  They  were  not  expect 
ing  this  beautiful  and  honorable  tribute  to  our  little  country 
maid. 

Joan  walked  two  yards  behind  the  Count,  we  three  walked 
two  yards  behind  Joan.  Our  solemn  march  ended  when  we 
were  as  yet  some  eight  or  ten  steps  from  the  throne.  The 
Count  made  a  deep  obeisance,  pronounced  Joan's  name,  then 
bowed  again  and  moved  to  his  place  among  a  group  of  offi 
cials  near  the  throne.  I  was  devouring  the  crowned  person 
age  with  all  my  eyes,  and  my  heart  almost  stood  still  with 
awe. 

The  eyes  of  all  others  were  fixed  upon  Joan  in  a  gaze  of 


110 


wonder  which  was  half  worship,  and  which  seemed  to  say, 
"  How  sweet — how  lovely — how  divine  !"  All  lips  were  part 
ed  and  motionless,  which  was  a  sure  sign  that  those  people, 
who  seldom  forget  themselves,  had  forgotten  themselves  now, 
and  were  not  conscious  of  anything  but  the  one  object  they 
were  gazing  upon.  They  had  the  look  of  people  who  are  un 
der  the  enchantment  of  a  vision. 

Then  they  presently  began  to  come  to  life  again,  rousing 
themselves  out  of  the  spell  and  shaking  it  off  as  one  drives 
away  little  by  little  a  clinging  drowsiness  or  intoxication. 
Now  they  fixed  their  attention  upon  Joan  with  a  strong  new 
interest  of  another  sort;  they  were  full  of  curiosity  to  see 
what  she  would  do — they  having  a  secret  and  particular  rea 
son  for  this  curiosity.  So  they  watched.  This  is  what  they 
saw : 

She  made  no  obeisance,  nor  even  any  slight  inclination  of 
her  head,  but  stood  looking  toward  the  throne  in  silence. 
That  was  all  there  was  to  see,  at  present. 

I  glanced  up  at  De  Metz,  and  was  shocked  at  the  paleness 
of  his  face.  I  whispered  and  said — 

"  What  is  it  man,  what  is  it  ?" 

His  answering  whisper  was  so  weak  I  could  hardly  catch  it — 

"They  have  taken  advantage  of  the  hint  in  her  letter  to 
play  a  trick  upon  her  !  She  will  err,  and  they  will  laugh  at 
her.  That  is  not  the  King  that  sits  there." 

Then  I  glanced  at  Joan.  She  was  still  gazing  steadfastly 
toward  the  throne,  and  I  had  the  curious  fancy  that  even  her 
shoulders  and  the  back  of  her  head  expressed  bewilderment. 
Now  she  turned  her  head  slowly,  and  her  eye  wandered  along 
the  lines  of  standing  courtiers  till  it  fell  upon  a  young  man 
who  was  very  quietly  dressed ;  then  her  face  lighted  joyously, 
and  she  ran  and  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  and  clasped  his 
knees,  exclaiming  in  that  soft  melodious  voice  which  was  her 
birthright  and  was  now  charged  with  deep  and  tender  feel 
ing — 

"God  of  his  grace  give  you  long  life,  O  dear  and  gentle 
Dauphin !" 


JOAN    PUZZLES   THE    SCHOLARS 


Ill 


In  his  astonishment  and  exultation  De  Metz  cried  out — 

"  By  the  shadow  of  God,  it  is  an  amazing  thing  !"  Then  he 
mashed  all  the  bones  of  my  hand  in  his  grateful  grip,  and 
added,  with  a  proud  shake  of  his  mane,  "  JVow,  what  have 
these  painted  infidels  to  say!" 

Meantime  the  young  person  in  the  plain  clothes  was  saying 
to  Joan — 

"  Ah,  you  mistake,  my  child,  I  am  not  the  King.  There  he 
is,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  throne. 

The  knight's  face  clouded,  and  he  muttered  in  grief  and 
indignation — 

"  Ah,  it  is  a  shame  to  use  her  so.  But  for  this  lie  she  had 
gone  through  safe.  I  will  go  and  proclaim  to  all  the  house 
what—" 

"  Stay  where  you  are  !"  whispered  I  and  the  Sieur  Bertrand 
in  a  breath,  and  made  him  stop  in  his  place. 

Joan  did  not  stir  from  her  knees,  but  still  lifted  her  happy 
face  toward  the  King,  and  said — 

"  No,  gracious  liege,  you  are  he,  and  none  other." 

De  Metz's  troubles  vanished  away,  and  he  said — 

"  Verily,  she  was  not  guessing,  she  knew.  Now,  how  could 
she  know  ?  It  is  a  miracle.  I  am  content,  and  will  meddle 
no  more,  for  I  perceive  that  she  is  equal  to  her  occasions, 
having  that  in  her  head  that  cannot  profitably  be  helped  by 
the  vacancy  that  is  in  mine." 

This  interruption  of  his  lost  me  a  remark  or  two  of  the 
other  talk ;  however,  I  caught  the  King's  next  question  : 

"  But  tell  me  who  you  are,  and  what  would  you  ?" 

"  I  am  called  Joan  the  Maid,  and  am  sent  to  say  that  the 
King  of  Heaven  wills  that  you  be  crowned  and  consecrated 
in  your  good  city  of  Rheims,  and  be  thereafter  Lieutenant  of 
the  Lord  of  Heaven,  who  is  King  of  France.  And  He  willeth 
also  that  you  set  me  at  my  appointed  work  and  give  me  men- 
at-arms."  After  a  slight  pause  she  added,  her  eye  lighting  at 
the  sound  of  her  words,  "  For  then  will  I  raise  the  siege  of 
Orleans  and  break  the  English  power!" 

The  young  monarch's  amused  face  sobered  a  little  when 


112 


this  martial  speech  fell  upon  that  sick  air  like  a  breath  blown 
from  embattled  camps  and  fields  of  war,  and  his  trifling  smile 
presently  faded  wholly  away  and  disappeared.  He  was  grave, 
now,  and  thoughtful.  After  a  little  he  waved  his  hand  lightly  and 
all  the  people  fell  away  and  left  those  two  by  themselves  in  a 
vacant  space.  The  knights  and  I  moved  to  the  opposite  side 
of  the  hall  and  stood  there.  We  saw  Joan  rise  at  a  sign, 
then  she  and  the  King  talked  privately  together. 

All  that  host  had  been  consumed  with  curiosity  to  see  what 
Joan  would  do.  Well,  they  had  seen,  and  now  they  were  full 
of  astonishment  to  see  that  she  had  really  performed  that 
strange  miracle  according  to  the  promise  in  her  letter;  and 
they  were  fully  as  much  astonished  to  find  that  she  was  not 
overcome  by  the  pomps  and  splendors  about  her,  but  was 
even  more  tranquil  and  at  her  ease  in  holding  speech  with  a 
monarch  than  ever  they  themselves  had  been,  with  all  their 
practice  and  experience. 

As  for  our  two  knights,  they  were  inflated  beyond  measure 
with  pride  in  Joan,  but  nearly  dumb,  as  to  speech,  they  not 
being  able  to  think  out  any  way  to  account  for  her  managing 
to  carry  herself  through  this  imposing  ordeal  without  ever  a 
mistake  or  an  awkwardness  of  any  kind  to  mar  the  grace 
and  credit  of  her  great  performance. 

The  talk  between  Joan  and  the  King  was  long  and  earnest, 
and  held  in  low  voices.  We  could  not  hear,  but  we  had  our 
eyes  and  could  note  effects ;  and  presently  we  and  all  the 
house  noted  one  effect  which  was  memorable  and  striking, 
and  has  been  set  down  in  memoires  and  histories  and  in 
testimony  at  the  Process  of  Rehabilitation  by  some  who  wit 
nessed  it ;  for  all  knew  it  was  big  with  meaning,  though  none 
knew  what  that  meaning  was  at  that  time,  of  course.  For 
suddenly  we  saw  the  King  shake  off  his  indolent  attitude  and 
straighten  up  like  a  man,  and  at  the  same  time  look  im 
measurably  astonished.  It  was  as  if  Joan  had  told  him  some 
thing  almost  too  wonderful  for  belief,  and  yet  of  a  most  up 
lifting  and  welcome  nature. 

It  was  long  before  we  found  out  the  secret  of  this  con- 


versation,  but  we  know  it  now,  and  all  the  world  knows  it. 
That  part  of  the  talk  was  like  this— as  one  may  read  in  all 
histories.  The  perplexed  King  asked  Joan  for  a  sign.  He 
wanted  to  believe  in  her  and  her  mission,  and  that  her  Voices 
were  supernatural  and  endowed  with  knowledge  hidden  from 
mortals,  but  how  could  he  do  this  unless  these  Voices  could 
prove  their  claim  in  some  absolutely  unassailable  way?  It 
was  then  that  Joan  said— 

"  I  will  give  you  a  sign,  and  you  shall  no  more  doubt. 
There  is  a  secret  trouble  in  your  heart  which  you  speak  of  to 
none — a  doubt  which  wastes  away  your  courage,  and  makes 
you  dream  of  throwing  all  away  and  fleeing  from  your  realm. 
Within  this  little  while  you  have  been  praying,  in  your  own 
breast,  that  God  of  his  grace  would  resolve  that  doubt,  even 
if  the  doing  of  it  must  show  you  that  no  kingly  right  is  lodged 
in  you." 

It  was  that  that  amazed  the  King,  for  it  was  as  she  had 
said :  his  prayer  was  the  secret  of  his  own  breast,  and  none 
but  God  could  know  about  it.  So  he  said  : 

"  The  sign  is  sufficient.  I  know,  now,  that  these  Voices 
are  of  God.  They  have  said  true  in  this  matter ;  if  they 
have  said  more,  tell  it  me — I  will  believe." 

"  They  have  resolved  that  doubt,  and  I  bring  their  very 
words,  which  are  these  :  Thou  art  lawful  heir  to  the  King 
thy  father,  and  true  heir  of  France.  God  has  spoken  it. 
Now  lift  up  thy  head,  and  doubt  no  more,  but  give  me  men- 
at-arms  and  let  me  get  about  my  work." 

Telling  him  he  was  of  lawful  birth  was  what  straightened 
him  up  and  made  a  man  of  him  for  a  moment,  removing 
his  doubts  upon  that  head  and  convincing  him  of  his  royal 
right;  and  if  any  could  have  hanged  his  hindering  and  pestif 
erous  council  and  set  him  free,  he  would  have  answered 
Joan's  prayer  and  set  her  in  the  field.  But  no,  those  creat 
ures  were  only  checked,  not  checkmated ;  they  could  invent 
some  more  delays. 

We  had  been  made  proud  by  the  honors  which  had  so 
distinguished  Joan's  entrance  into  that  place — honors  restrict- 


ed  to  personages  of  very  high  rank  and  worth — but  that  pride 
was  as  nothing  compared  with  the  pride  we  had  in  the  honor 
done  her  upon  leaving  it.  For  whereas  those  first  honors 
were  shown  only  to  the  great,  these  last,  up  to  this  time,  had 
been  shown  only  to  the  royal.  The  King  himself  led  Joan 
by  the  hand  down  the  great  hall  to  the  door,  the  glittering 
multitude  standing  and  making  reverence  as  they  passed,  and 
the  silver  trumpets  sounding  those  rich  notes  of  theirs.  Then 
he  dismissed  her  with  gracious  words,  bending  low  over  her 
hand  and  kissing  it.  Always — from  all  companies,  high  or 
low — she  went  forth  richer  in  honor  and  esteem  than  when 
she  came. 

And  the  King  did  another  handsome  thing  by  Joan,  for  he 
sent  us  back  to  Courdray  Castle  torch-lighted  and  in  state, 
under  escort  of  his  own  troop — his  guard  of  honor — the  only 
soldiers  he  had ;  and  finely  equipped  and  bedizened  they 
were,  too,  though  they  hadn't  seen  the  color  of  their  wages 
since  they  were  children,  as  a  body  might  say.  The  wonders 
which  Joan  had  been  performing  before  the  King  had  been 
carried  all  around  by  this  time,  so  the  road  was  so  packed 
with  people  who  wanted  to  get  a  sight  of  her  that  we  could 
hardly  dig  through ;  and  as  for  talking  together,  we  couldn't, 
all  attempts  at  talk  being  drowned  in  the  storm  of  shoutings 
and  huzzas  that  broke  out  all  along  as  we  passed,  and  kept 
abreast  of  us  like  a  wave  the  whole  way. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WE  were  doomed  to  suffer  tedious  waits  and  delays,  and 
we  settled  ourselves  down  to  our  fate  and  bore  it  with  a 
dreary  patience,  counting  the  slow  hours  and  the  dull  days 
and  hoping  for  a  turn  when  God  should  please  to  send  it. 
The  Paladin  was  the  only  exception — that  is  to  say,  he  was 
the  only  one  who  was  happy  and  had  no  heavy  times.  This 
was  partly  owing  to  the  satisfaction  he  got  out  of  his  clothes. 
He  bought  them  when  he  first  arrived.  He  bought  them  at 
second  hand  —  a  Spanish  cavalier's  complete  suit,  wide- 
brimmed  hat  with  flowing  plumes,  lace  collar  and  cuffs,  faded 
velvet  doublet  and  trunks,  short  cloak  hung  from  the  shoul 
der,  funnel-topped  buskins,  long  rapier,  and  all  that — a  grace 
ful  and  picturesque  costume,  and  the  Paladin's  great  frame 
was  the  right  place  to  hang  it  for  effect.  He  wore  it  when  off 
duty  ;  and  when  he  swaggered  by  with  one  hand  resting  on 
the  hilt  of  his  rapier,  and  twirling  his  new  mustache  with 
the  other,  everybody  stopped  to  look  and  admire;  and  well 
they  might,  for  he  was  a  fine  and  stately  contrast  to  the  small 
French  gentleman  of  the  day  squeezed  into  the  trivial  French 
costume  of  the  time. 

He  was  king  bee  of  the  little  village  that  snuggled  under 
the  shelter  of  the  frowning  towers  and  bastions  of  Courdray 
Castle,  and  acknowledged  lord  of  the  tap-room  of  the  inn. 
When  he  opened  his  mouth  there,  he  got  a  hearing.  Those 
simple  artisans  and  peasants  listened  with  deep  and  wonder 
ing  interest ;  for  he  was  a  traveller  and  had  seen  the  world — 
all  of  it  that  lay  between  Chinon  and  Domremy,  at  any  rate — 
and  that  was  a  wide  stretch  more  of  it  than  they  might  ever 
hope  to  see ;  and  he  had  been  in  battle,  and  knew  how  to 


paint  its  shock  and  struggle,  its  perils  and  surprises,  with  an 
art  that  was  all  his  own.  He  was  cock  of  that  walk,  hero  of 
that  hostelry ;  he  drew  custom  as  honey  draws  flies  ;  so  he 
was  the  pet  of  the  inn-keeper,  and  of  his  wife  and  daughter, 
and  they  were  his  obliged  and  willing  servants. 

Most  people  who  have  the  narrative  gift — that  great  and 
rare  endowment  —  have  with  it  the  defect  of  telling  their 
choice  things  over  the  same  way  every  time,  and  this  injures 
them  and  causes  them  to  sound  stale  and  wearisome  after 
several  repetitions ;  but  it  was  not  so  with  the  Paladin,  whose 
art  was  of  a  finer  sort ;  it  was  more  stirring  and  interesting 
to  hear  him  tell  about  a  battle  the  tenth  time  than  it  was  the 
first  time,  because  he  did  not  tell  it  twice  the  same  way,  but 
always  made  a  new  battle  of  it  and  a  better  one,  with  more 
casualties  on  the  enemy's  side  each  time,  and  more  general 
wreck  and  disaster  all  around,  and  more  widows  and  orphans 
and  suffering  in  the  neighborhood  where  it  happened.  He 
could  not  tell  his  battles  apart  himself,  except  by  their 
names  ;  and  by  the  time  he  had  told  one  of  them  ten  times 
he  had  to  lay  it  aside  and  start  a  new  one  in  its  place,  be 
cause  it  had  grown  so  that  there  wasn't  room  enough  in 
France  for  it  any  more,  but  was  lapping  over  the  edges.  But 
up  to  that  point  the  audience  would  not  allow  him  to  sub 
stitute  a  new  battle,  knowing  that  the  old  ones  were  the  best, 
and  sure  to  improve  as  long  as  France  could  hold  them  ;  and 
so,  instead  of  saying  to  him  as  they  would  have  said  to  an 
other,  "  Give  us  something  fresh,  we  are  fatigued  with  that 
old  thing,"  they  would  say,  with  one  voice  and  with  a  strong 
interest,  "Tell  about  the  surprise  at  Beaulieu  again — tell  it 
three  or  four  times  !"  That  is  a  compliment  which  few  narra 
tive  experts  have  heard  in  their  lifetime. 

At  first  when  the  Paladin  heard  us  tell  about  the  glories  of 
the  Royal  Audience  he  was  broken-hearted  because  he  was 
not  taken  with  us  to  it ;  next,  his  talk  was  full  of  what  he 
would  have  done  if  he  had  been  there ;  and  within  two  days 
he  was  telling  what  he  did  do  when  he  was  there.  His  mill 
was  fairly  started,  now,  and  could  be  trusted  to  take  care  of 


its  affair.  Within  three  nights  afterwards  all  his  battles  were 
taking  a  rest,  for  already  his  worshippers  in  the  tap-room  were 
so  infatuated  with  the  great  tale  of  the  Royal  Audience  that 
they  would  have  nothing  else,  and  so  besotted  with  it  were 
they  that  they  would  have  cried  if  they  could  not  have  got 
ten  it. 

Noel  Rainguesson  hid  himself  and  heard  it,  and  came  and 
told  me,  and  after  that  we  went  together  to  listen,  bribing  the 
inn  hostess  to  let  us  have  her  little  private  parlor,  where  we 
could  stand  at  the  wickets  in  the  door  and  see  and  hear. 

The  tap-room  was  large,  yet  had  a  snug  and  cosey  look,  with 
its  inviting  little  tables  and  chairs  scattered  irregularly  over 
its  red  brick  floor,  and  its  great  fire  flaming  and  crackling  in 
the  wide  chimney.  It  was  a  comfortable  place  to  be  in  on 
such  chilly  and  blustering  March  nights  as  these,  and  a  goodly 
company  had  taken  shelter  there,  and  were  sipping  their  wine 
in  contentment  and  gossiping  one  with  another  in  a  neighbor 
ly  way  while  they  waited  for  the  historian.  The  host,  the  host 
ess,  and  their  pretty  daughter  were  flying  here  and  there  and 
yonder  among  the  tables  and  doing  their  best  to  keep  up 
with  the  orders.  The  room  was  about  forty  feet  square,  and 
a  space  or  aisle  down  the  centre  of  it  had  been  kept  vacant 
and  reserved  for  the  Paladin's  needs.  At  the  end  of  it  was 
a  platform  ten  or  twelve  feet  wide,  with  a  big  chair  and  a 
small  table  on  it,  and  three  steps  leading  up  to  it. 

Among  the  wine-sippers  were  many  familiar  faces  :  the  cob 
bler,  the  farrier,  the  blacksmith,  the  wheelwright,  the  armorer, 
the  maltster,  the  weaver,  the  baker,  the  miller's  man  with  his 
dusty  coat,  and  so  on ;  and  conspicuous  and  important,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  was  the  barber-surgeon,  for  he  is  that  in  all 
villages.  As  he  has  to  pull  everybody's  teeth,  and  purge  and 
bleed  all  the  grown  people  once  a  month  to  keep  their  health 
sound,  he  knows  everybody,  and  by  constant  contact  with  all 
sorts  of  folk  becomes  a  master  of  etiquette  and  manners  and 
a  conversationalist  of  large  facility.  There  were  plenty  of 
carriers,  drovers,  and  their  sort,  and  journeymen  artisans. 

When  the  Paladin  presently  came  sauntering  indolently  in, 


he  was  received  with  a  cheer,  and  the  barber  bustled  forward 
and  greeted  him  with  several  low  and  most  graceful  and 
courtly  bows,  also  taking  his  hand  and  touching  his  lips  to  it. 
Then  he  called  in  a  loud  voice  for  a  stoup  of  wine  for  the 
Paladin,  and  when  the  host's  daughter  brought  it  up  on  to  the 
platform  and  dropped  her  courtesy  and  departed,  the  barber 
called  after  her,  and  told  her  to  add  the  wine  to  his  score. 
This  won  him  ejaculations  of  approval,  which  pleased  him 
very  much  and  made  his  little  rat-eyes  shine  ;  and  such  ap 
plause  is  right  and  proper,  for  when  we  do  a  liberal  and  gal 
lant  thing  it  is  but  natural  that  we  should  wish  to  see  notice 
taken  of  it. 

The  barber  called  upon  the  people  to  rise  and  drink  the 
Paladin's  health,  and  they  did  it  with  alacrity  and  affectionate 
heartiness,  clashing  their  metal  flagons  together  with  a  simul 
taneous  crash,  and  heightening  the  effect  with  a  resounding 
cheer.  It  was  a  fine  thing  to  see  how  that  young  swashbuck 
ler  had  made  himself  so  popular  in  a  strange  land  in  so  little 
a  while,  and  without  other  helps  to  his  advancement  than 
just  his  tongue  and  the  talent  to  use  it  given  him  by  God — a 
talent  which  was  but  one  talent  in  the  beginning,  but  was 
now  become  ten  through  husbandry  and  the  increment  and 
usufruct  that  do  naturally  follow  that  and  reward  it  as  by  a 
law. 

The  people  sat  down  and  began  to  hammer  on  the  tables 
with  their  flagons  and  call  for  "  the  King's  Audience  ! — the 
King's  Audience ! — the  King's  Audience !"  The  Paladin  stood 
there  in  one  of  his  best  attitudes,  with  his  plumed  great  hat 
tipped  over  to  the  left,  the  folds  of  his  short  cloak  drooping 
from  his  shoulder,  and  the  one  hand  resting  upon  the  hilt  of 
his  rapier  and  the  other  lifting  his  beaker.  As  the  noise  died 
down  he  made  a  stately  sort  of  a  bow,  which  he  had  picked 
up  somewhere,  then  fetched  his  beaker  with  a  sweep  to  his 
lips  and  tilted  his  head  back  and  drained  it  to  the  bottom. 
The  barber  jumped  for  it  and  set  it  upon  the  Paladin's  table. 
Then  the  Paladin  began  to  walk  up  and  down  his  platform 
with  a  great  deal  of  dignity  and  quite  at  his  ease  ;  and  as  he 


walked  he  talked,  and  every  little  while  stopped  and  stood 
facing  his  house  and  so  standing  continued  his  talk. 

We  went  three  nights  in  succession.  It  was  plain  that 
there  was  a  charm  about  the  performance  that  was  apart  from 
the  mere  interest  which  attaches  to  lying.  It  was  presently 
discoverable  that  this  charm  lay  in  the  Paladin's  sincerity. 
He  was  not  lying  consciously ;  he  believed  what  he  was  say 
ing.  To  him,  his  initial  statements  were  facts,  and  whenever 
he  enlarged  a  statement,  the  enlargement  became  a  fact  too. 
He  put  his  heart  into  his  extravagant  narrative,  just  as  a  poet 
puts  his  heart  into  a  heroic  fiction,  and  his  earnestness  dis 
armed  criticism — disarmed  it  as  far  as  he  himself  was  con 
cerned.  Nobody  believed  his  narrative,  but  all  believed  that 
he  believed  it. 

He  made  his  enlargements  without  flourish,  without  em 
phasis,  and  so  casually  that  often  one  failed  to  notice  that  a 
change  had  been  made.  He  spoke  of  the  governor  of  Vau- 
couleurs,  the  first  night,  simply  as  the  governor  of  Vaucou- 
leurs ;  he  spoke  of  him  the  second  night  as  his  uncle  the 
governor  of  Vaucouleurs  ;  the  third  night  he  was  his  father. 
He  did  not  seem  to  know  that  he  was  making  these  extraor 
dinary  changes  ;  they  dropped  from  his  lips  in  a  quite  natural 
and  effortless  way.  By  his  first  night's  account  the  governor 
merely  attached  him  to  the  Maid's  military  escort  in  a  general 
and  unofficial  way ;  the  second  night  his  uncle  the  governor 
sent  him  with  the  Maid  as  lieutenant  of  her  rear  guard ;  the 
third  night  his  father  the  governor  put  the  whole  command, 
Maid  and  all,  in  his  especial  charge.  The  first  night  the  gov 
ernor  spoke  of  him  as  a  youth  without  name  or  ancestry,  but 
"  destined  to  achieve  both  " ;  the  second  night  his  uncle  the 
governor  spoke  of  him  as  the  latest  and  worthiest  lineal  de 
scendant  of  the  chiefest  and  noblest  of  the  Twelve  Paladins 
of  Charlemagne ;  the  third  night  he  spoke  of  him  as  the 
lineal  descendant  of  the  whole  dozen.  In  three  nights  he 
promoted  the  Count  of  Vendome  from  a  fresh  acquaintance 
to  schoolmate,  and  then  brother-in-law. 

At  the  King's  Audience  everything  grew,  in  the  same  way. 


120 


First  the  four  silver  trumpets  were  twelve,  then  thirty-five, 
finally  ninety-six  ;  and  by  that  time  he  had  thrown  in  so  many 
drums  and  cymbals  that  he  had  to  lengthen  the  hall  from  five 
hundred  feet  to  nine  hundred  to  accommodate  them.  Under 
his  hand  the  people  present  multiplied  in  the  same  large  way. 

The  first  two  nights  he  contented  himself  with  merely  de 
scribing  and  exaggerating  the  chief  dramatic  incident  of  the 
Audience,  but  the  third  night  he  added  illustration  to  descrip 
tion.  He  throned  the  barber  in  his  own  high  chair  to  repre 
sent  the  sham  King ;  then  he  told  how  the  Court  watched  the 
Maid  with  intense  interest  and  suppressed  merriment,  expect 
ing  to  see  her  fooled  by  the  deception  and  get  herself  swept 
permanently  out  of  credit  by  the  storm  of  scornful  laughter 
which  would  follow.  He  worked  this  scene  up  till  he  got  his 
house  in  a  burning  fever  of  excitement  and  anticipation,  then 
came  his  climax.  Turning  to  the  barber,  he  said  : 

"  But  mark  you  what  she  did.  She  gazed  steadfastly  upon 
that  sham's  villain  face  as  I  now  gaze  upon  yours — this  being 
her  noble  and  simple  attitude,  just  as  I  stand  now — then 
turned  she — thus — to  me,  and  stretching  her  arm  out — so — 
and  pointing  with  her  finger,  she  said,  in  that  firm,  calm  tone 
which  she  was  used  to  use  in  directing  the  conduct  of  a  bat 
tle,  'Pluck  me  this  false  knave  from  the  throne  !'  I,  striding 
forward  as  I  do  now,  took  him  by  the  collar  and  lifted  him 
out  and  held  him  aloft — thus — as  if  he  had  been  but  a  child." 
(The  house  rose,  shouting,  stamping,  and  banging  with  their 
flagons,  and  went  fairly  mad  over  this  magnificent  exhibition 
of  strength — and  there  was  not  the  shadow  of  a  laugh  any 
where,  though  the  spectacle  of  the  limp  but  proud  barber 
hanging  there  in  the  air  like  a  puppy  held  by  the  scruff  of  its 
neck  was  a  thing  that  had  nothing  of  solemnity  about  it.) 
"Then  I  set  him  down  upon  ,his  feet — thus — being  minded 
to  get  him  by  a  better  hold  and  heave  him  out  of  the  window, 
but  she  bid  me  forbear,  so  by  that  error  he  escaped  with  his  life. 

"Then  she  turned  her  about  and  viewed  the  throng 
with  those  eyes  of  hers,  which  are  the  clear-shining  windows 
whence  her  immortal  wisdom  looketh  out  upon  the  world,  re- 


THE    EXAMINATION    OF  JOAN 


121 


solving  its  falsities  and  coming  at  the  kernel  of  truth  that  is 
hid  within  them,  and  presently  they  fell  upon  a  young  man 
modestly  clothed,  and  him  she  proclaimed  for  what  he  truly 
was,  saying,  'I  am  thy  servant — thou  art  the  King!'  Then 
all  were  astonished,  and  a  great  shout  went  up,  the  whole  six 
thousand  joining  in  it,  so  that  the  walls  rocked  with  the  vol 
ume  and  the  tumult  of  it." 

He  made  a  fine  and  picturesque  thing  of  the  march-out 
from  the  Audience,  augmenting  the  glories  of  it  to  the  last 
limit  of  the  impossibilities ;  then  he  took  from  his  finger  and 
held  up  a  brass  nut  from  a  bolt-head  which  the  head-ostler  at 
the  castle  had  given  him  that  morning,  and  made  his  conclu 
sion—thus  : 

"  Then  the  King  dismissed  the  Maid  most  graciously — as 
indeed  was  her  desert — and  turning  to  me,  said,  *  Take  this 
signet-ring,  son  of  the  Paladins,  and  command  me  with  it  in 
your  day  of  need  ;  and  look  you,'  said  he,  touching  my  temple, 
'  preserve  this  brain,  France  has  use  for  it ;  and  look  well  to 
its  casket  also,  for  I  foresee  that  it  will  be  hooped  with  a  ducal 
coronet  one  day.'  I  took  the  ring,  and  knelt  and  kissed  his 
hand,  saying,  '  Sire,  where  glory  calls,  there  will  I  be  found ; 
where  danger  and  death  are  thickest,  that  is  my  native  air ; 
when  France  and  the  throne  need  help — well,  I  say  nothing, 
for  I  am  not  of  the  talking  sort — let  my  deeds  speak  for  me, 
it  is  all  I  ask.' 

"  So  ended  that  most  fortunate  and  memorable  episode,  so 
big  with  future  weal  for  the  crown  and  the  nation,  and  unto 
God  be  the  thanks  !  Rise  !  Fill  your  flagons  !  Now — to 
France  and  the  King — drink  !" 

They  emptied  them  to  the  bottom,  then  burst  into  cheers 
and  huzzas,  and  kept  it  up  as  much  as  two  minutes,  the  Pal 
adin  standing  at  stately  ease  the  while  and  smiling  benig- 
nantly  from  his  platform. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

WHEN  Joan  told  the  King  what  that  deep  secret  was  that 
was  torturing  his  heart,  his  doubts  were  cleared  away ;  he  be 
lieved  she  was  sent  of  God,  and  if  he  had  been  let  alone  he 
would  have  set  her  upon  her  great  mission  at  once.  But  he 
was  not  let  alone.  Tremouille  and  the  holy  fox  of  Rheims 
knew  their  man.  All  they  needed  to  say  was  this — and  they 
said  it : 

"  Your  Highness  says  her  Voices  have  revealed  to  you,  by 
her  mouth,  a  secret  known  only  to  yourself  and  God.  How 
can  you  know  that  her  Voices  are  not  of  Satan,  and  she  his 
mouthpiece? — for  does  not  Satan  know  the  secrets  of  men 
and  use  his  knowledge  for  the  destruction  of  their  souls  ?  It 
is  a  dangerous  business,  and  your  Highness  will  do  well  not 
to  proceed  in  it  without  probing  the  matter  to  the  bottom." 

That  was  enough.  It  shrivelled  up  the  King's  little  soul 
like  a  raisin,  with  terrors  and  apprehensions,  and  straightway 
he  privately  appointed  a  commission  of  bishops  to  visit  and 
question  Joan  daily  until  they  should  find  out  whether  her  su 
pernatural  helps  hailed  from  heaven  or  from  hell. 

The  King's  relative,  the  Duke  of  Alen^on,  three  years  pris 
oner  of  war  to  the  English,  was  in  these  days  released  from 
captivity  through  promise  of  a  great  ransom;  and  the  name 
and  fame  of  the  Maid  having  reached  him — for  the  same  filled 
all  mouths  now,  and  penetrated  to  all  parts — he  came  to  Chi- 
non  to  see  with  his  own  eyes  what  manner  of  creature  she 
might  be.  The  King  sent  for  Joan  and  introduced  her  to 
the  Duke.  She  said,  in  her  simple  fashion  : 

"  You  are  welcome ;  the  more  of  the  blood  of  France  that 
is  joined  to  this  cause,  the  better  for  the  cause  and  it." 


123 

Then  the  two  talked  together,  and  there  was  just  the  usual 
result :  when  they  parted,  the  Duke  was  her  friend  and  advo 
cate. 

Joan  attended  the  King's  mass  the  next  day,  and  afterward 
dined  with  the  King  and  the  Duke.  The  King  was  learning 
to  prize  her  company  and  value  her  conversation ;  and  that 
might  well  be,  for,  like  other  Kings,  he  was  used  to  getting 
nothing  out'  of  people's  talk  but  guarded  phrases,  colorless 
and  non-committal,  or  carefully  tinted  to  tally  with  the  color 
of  what  he  said  himself;  and  so  this  kind  of  conversation 
only  vexes  and  bores,  and  is  wearisome ;  but  Joan's  talk  was 
fresh  and  free,  sincere  and  honest,  and  unmarred  by  timorous 
self-watching  and  constraint.  She  said  the  very  thing  that 
was  in  her  mind,  and  said  it  in  a  plain,  straightforward  way. 
One  can  believe  that  to  the  King  this  must  have  been  like 
fresh  cold  water  from  the  mountains  to  parched  lips  used  to 
the  water  of  the  sun-baked  puddles  of  the  plain. 

After  dinner  Joan  so  charmed  the  Duke  with  her  horseman 
ship  and  lance-practice  in  the  meadows  by  the  Castle  of  Chi- 
non,  whither  the  King  also  had  come  to  look  on,  that  he  made 
her  a  present  of  a  great  black  war-steed. 

Every  day  the  commission  of  bishops  came  and  questioned 
Joan  about  her  Voices  and  her  mission,  and  then  went  to  the 
King  with  their  report.  These  pryings  accomplished  but  lit 
tle.  She  told  as  much  as  she  considered  advisable,  and  kept 
the  rest  to  herself.  Both  threats  and  trickeries  were  wasted 
upon  her.  She  did  not  care  for  the  threats,  and  the  traps 
caught  nothing.  She  was  perfectly  frank  and  childlike  about 
these  things.  She  knew  the  bishops  were  sent  by  the  King, 
that  their  questions  were  the  King's  questions,  and  that  by  all 
law  and  custom  a  King's  questions  must  be  answered  ;  yet  she 
told  the  King  in  her  naive  way  at  his  own  table  one  day  that 
she  answered  only  such  of  those  questions  as  suited  her. 

The  bishops  finally  concluded  that  they  couldn't  tell  wheth 
er  Joan  was  sent  by  God  or  not.  They  were  cautious,  you  see. 
There  were  two  powerful, parties  at  Court;  therefore  to  make 
a  decision  either  way  would  infallibly  embroil  them  with  one  of 


124 


those  parties  ;  so  it  seemed  to  them  wisest  to  roost  on  the  fence 
and  shift  the  burden  to  other  shoulders.  And  that  is  what 
they  did.  They  made  final  report  that  Joan's  case  was  beyond 
their  powers,  and  recommended  that  it  be  put  into  the  hands 
of  the  learned  and  illustrious  doctc  3  of  the  University  of 
Poitiers.  Then  they  retired  from  the  field,  leaving  behind 
them  this  little  item  of  testimony,  wn'ng  from  them  by  Joan's 
wise  reticence :  they  said  she  was  a  "  gentle  and  simple  little 
shepherdess,  very  candid,  but  not  given  to  talking" 

It  was  quite  true — in  their  case.  But  if  they  could  have 
looked  back  and  seen  her  with  us  in  the  happy  pastures  of 
Domremy,  they  would  have  perceived  that  she  had  a  tongue 
that  could  go  fast  enough  when  no  harm  could  come  of  her 
words. 

So  we  travelled  to  Poitiers,  to  endure  there  three  weeks  of 
tedious  delay  while  this  poor  child  was  being  daily  questioned 
and  badgered  before  a  great  bench  of — what  ?  Military  ex 
perts  ? — since  what  she  had  come  to  apply  for  was  an  army 
and  the  privilege  of  leading  it  to  battle  against  the  enemies 
of  France.  Oh  no;  it  was  a  great  bench  of  priests  and 
monks — profoundly  learned  and  astute  casuists — renowned 
professors  of  theology  !  Instead  of  setting  a  military  com 
mission  to  find  out  if  this  valorous  little  soldier  could  win 
victories,  they  set  a  company  of  holy  hair-splitters  and  phrase 
mongers  to  work  to  find  out  if  the  soldier  was  sound  in  her 
piety  and  had  no  doctrinal  leaks.  The  rats  were  devouring 
the  house,  but  instead  of  examining  the  cat's  teeth  and 
claws,  they  only  concerned  themselves  to  find  out  if  it  was  a 
holy  cat.  If  it  was  a  pious  cat,  a  moral  cat,  all  right,  never 
mind  about  the  other  capacities,  they  were  of  no  conse 
quence. 

Joan  was  as  sweetly  self-possessed  and  tranquil  before  this 
grim  tribunal,  with  its  robed  celebrities,  its  solemn  state  and 
imposing  ceremonials,  as  if  she  were  but  a  spectator  and  not 
herself  on  trial.  She  sat  there,  solitary  on  her  bench,  un 
troubled,  and  disconcerted  the  science  of  the  sages  with  her 
sublime  ignorance — an  ignorance  which  was  a  fortress ;  arts, 


12$ 

wiles,  the  learning  drawn  from  books,  and  all  like  missiles 
rebounded  from  its  unconscious  masonry  and  fell  to  the 
ground  harmless ;  they  could  not  dislodge  the  garrison  which 
was  within — Joan's  serene  great  heart  and  spirit,  the  guards 
and  keepers  of  her  mission. 

She  answered  all  questions  frankly,  and  she  told  all  the 
story  of  her  visions  and  of  her  experiences  with  the  angels 
and  what  they  said  to  her ;  and  the  manner  of  the  telling  was 
so  unaffected,  and  so  earnest  and  sincere,  and  made  it  all 
seem  so  life-like  and  real,  that  even  that  hard  practical  court 
forgot  itself  and  sat  motionless  and  mute,  listening  with  a 
charmed  and  wondering  interest  to  the  end.  And  if  you 
would  have  other  testimony  than  mine,  look  in  the  histories 
and  you  will  find  where  an  eye-witness,  giving  sworn  tes 
timony  in  the  Rehabilitation  process,  says  that  she  told 
that  tale  "  with  a  noble  dignity  and  simplicity,"  and  as  to 
its  effect,  says  in  substance  what  I  have  said.  Seventeen", 
she  was — seventeen,  and  all  alone  on  her  bench  by  herself; 
yet  was  not  afraid,  but  faced  that  great  company  of  erudite 
doctors  of  law  and  theology,  and  by  the  help  of  no  art 
learned  in  the  schools,  but  using  only  the  enchantments 
which  were  hers  by  nature,  of  youth,  sincerity,  a  voice  soft 
and  musical,  and  an  eloquence  whose  source  was  the  heart, 
not  the  head,  she  laid  that  spell  upon  them,  Now  was  not 
that  a  beautiful  thing  to  see  ?  If  I  could,  I  would  put  it 
before  you  just  as  I  saw  it;  then  I  know  what  you  would 
say. 

As  I  have  told  you,  she  could  not  read.  One  day  they 
harried  and  pestered  her  with  arguments,  reasonings,  objec 
tions  and  other  windy  and  wordy  trivialities,  gathered  out  of 
the  works  of  this  and  that  and  the  other  great  theological 
authority,  until  at  last  her  patience  vanished,  and  she  turned 
upon  them  sharply  and  said — 

"  I  don't  know  A  from  B  ;  but  I  know  this  :  that  I  am  come 
by  command  of  the  Lord  of  Heaven  to  deliver  Orleans  from 
the  English  power  and  crown  the  King  at  Rheiins,  and  the 
matters  ye  are  puttering  over  are  of  no  consequence  !" 


126 


Necessarily  those  were  trying  days  for  her,  and  wearing  for 
everybody  that  took  part ;  but  her  share  was  the  hardest,  for 
she  had  no  holidays,  but  must  be  always  on  hand  and  stay 
the  long  hours  through,  whereas  this,  that,  and  the  other  in 
quisitor  could  absent  himself  and  rest  up  from  his  fatigues 
when  he  got  worn  out.  And  yet  she  showed  no  wear,  no 
weariness,  and  but  seldom  let  fly  her  temper.  As  a  rule  she 
put  her  day  through  calm,  alert,  patient,  fencing  with  those 
veteran  masters  of  scholarly  sword-play  and  coming  out 
always  without  a  scratch. 

One  day  a  Dominican  sprung  upon  her  a  question  which 
made  everybody  cock  up  his  ears  with  interest ;  as  for  me, 
I  trembled,  and  said  to  myself  she  is  caught  this  time,  poor 
Joan,  for  there  is  no  way  of  answering  this.  The  sly  Do 
minican  began  in  this  way — in  a  sort  of  indolent  fashion,  as  if 
the  thing  he  was  about  was  a  matter  of  no  moment : 

"  You  assert  that  God  has  willed  to  deliver  France  from 
this  English  bondage  ?" 

"Yes,  He  has  willed  it." 

"  You  wish  for  men-at-arms,  so  that  you  may  go  to  the  re 
lief  of  Orleans,  I  believe  ?" 

"  Yes — and  the  sooner  the  better." 

"  God  is  all-powerful,  and  able  to  do  whatsoever  thing  He 
wills  to  do,  is  it  not  so  ?" 

"  Most  surely.     None  doubts  it." 

The  Dominican  lifted  his  head  suddenly,  and  sprung  that 
question  I  have  spoken  of,  with  exultation  : 

"Then  answer  me  this.  If  He  has  willed  to  deliver 
France,  and  is  able  to  do  whatsoever  He  wills,  where  is  the 
need  for  men-at-arms  ?" 

There  was  a  fine  stir  and  commotion  when  he  said  that, 
and  a  sudden  thrusting  forward  of  heads  and  putting  up  of 
hands  to  ears  to  catch  the  answer;  and  the  Dominican 
wagged  his  head  with  satisfaction,  and  looked  about  him 
collecting  his  applause,  for  it  shone  in  every  face.  But  Joan 
was  not  disturbed.  There  was  no  note  of  disquiet  in  her 
voice  when  she  answered : 


127 


"  He  helps  who  help  themselves.  The  sons  of  France  will 
fight  the  battles,  but  He  will  give  the  victory!" 

You  could  see  a  light  of  admiration  sweep  the  house  from 
face  to  face  like  a  ray  from  the  sun.  Even  the  Dominican 
himself  looked  pleased,  to  see  his  master-stroke  so  neatly 
parried,  and  I  heard  a  venerable  bishop  mutter,  in  the  phras 
ing  common  to  priest  and  people  in  that  robust  time,  "  By 
God,  the  child  has  said  true.  He  willed  that  Goliath  should 
be  slain,  and  He  sent  a  child  like  this  to  do  it !" 

Another  day,  when  the  inquisition  had  dragged  along  until 
everybody  looked  drowsy  and  tired  but  Joan,  Brother  Se'guin, 
professor  of  theology  in  the  University  of  Poitiers,  who  was  a 
sour  and  sarcastic  man,  fell  to  plying  Joan  with  all  sorts  of 
nagging  questions  in  his  bastard  Limousin  French — for  he 
was  from  Limoges.  Finally  he  said — 

"  How  is  it  that  you  could  understand  those  angels  ?  What 
language  did  they  speak  ?" 

"French." 

"  In-deed  !  How  pleasant  to  know  that  our  language  is  so 
honored  !  Good  French  ?" 

"Yes— perfect." 

"  Perfect,  eh  ?  Well,  certainly  you  ought  to  know.  It  was 
even  better  than  your  own,  eh  ?" 

"  As  to  that,  I — I  believe  I  cannot  say,"  said  she,  and  was 
going  on,  but  stopped.  Then  she  added,  almost  as  if  she 
were  saying  it  to  herself,  "  Still,  it  was  an  improvement  on 
yours  !" 

I  knew  there  was  a  chuckle  back  of  her  eyes,  for  all  their 
innocence.  Everybody  shouted.  Brother  Seguin  was  nettled, 
and  asked  brusquely — 

"  Do  you  believe  in  God  ?" 

Joan  answered  with  an  irritating  nonchalance — 

"Oh,  well,  yes — better  than  you,  it  is  likely." 

Brother  Seguin  lost  his  patience,  and  heaped  sarcasm  after 
sarcasm  upon  her,  and  finally  burst  out  in  angry  earnest,  ex 
claiming — 

"  Very  well,  I  can  tell  you  this,  you  whose  belief  in  God  is 


128 


so  great :  God  has  not  willed  that  any  shall  believe  in  you 
without  a  sign.  Where  is  your  sign  ? — show  it !" 

This  roused  Joan,  and  she  was  on  her  feet  in  a  moment, 
and  flung  out  her  retort  with  spirit : 

"  I  have  not  come  to  Poitiers  to  show  signs  and  do  mir 
acles.  Send  me  to  Orleans  and  you  shall  have  signs  enough. 
Give  me  men-at-arms — few  or  many — and  let  me  go  !" 

The  fire  was  leaping  from  her  eyes — ah,  the  heroic  little 
figure  !  can't  you  see  her  ?  There  was  a  great  burst  of  accla 
mations,  and  she  sat  down  blushing,  for  it  was  not  in  her 
delicate  nature  to  like  being  conspicuous. 

This  speech  and  that  episode  about  the  French  language 
scored  two  points  against  Brother  Se'guin,  while  he  scored 
nothing  against  Joan  ;  yet,  sour  man  as  he  was,  he  was  a  manly 
man,  and  honest,  as  you  can  see  by  the  histories  ;  for  at  the 
Rehabilitation  he  could  have  hidden  those  unlucky  incidents 
if  he  had  chosen,  but  he  didn't  do  it,  but  spoke  them  right 
out  in  his  evidence. 

On  one  of  the  later  days  of  that  three  weeks'  session  the 
gowned  scholars  and  professors  made  one  grand  assault 
all  along  the  line,  fairly  overwhelming  Joan  with  objections 
and  arguments  culled  from  the  writings  of  every  ancient  and 
illustrious  authority  of  the  Roman  Church.  She  was  well- 
nigh  smothered;  but  at  last  she  shook  herself  free  and  struck 
back,  crying  out : 

"  Listen  !  The  Book  of  God  is  worth  more  than  all  these 
ye  cite,  and  I  stand  upon  //.  And  I  tell  ye  there  are  things 
in  that  Book  that  not  one  among  ye  can  read,  with  all  your 
learning  !" 

From  the  first  she  was  the  guest,  by  invitation,  of  the 
dame  De  Rabateau,  wife  of  a  councillor  of  the  Parlia 
ment  of  Poitiers ;  and  to  that  house  the  great  ladies  of  the 
city  came  nightly  to  see  Joan  and  talk  with  her ;  and  not 
these  only,  but  the  old  lawyers,  councillors,  and  scholars  of 
the  Parliament  and  the  University.  And  these  grave  men,  ac 
customed  to  weigh  every  strange  and  questionable  thing,  and 
cautiously  consider  it,  and  turn  it  about  this  way  and  that 


129 

and  still  doubt  it,  came  night  after  night,  and  night  after 
night,  falling  ever  deeper  and  deeper  under  the  influence  of 
that  mysterious  something,  that  spell,  that  elusive  and  un- 
wordable  fascination,  which  was  the  supremest  endowment  of 
Joan  of  Arc,  that  winning  and  persuasive  and  convincing  some 
thing  which  high  and  low  alike  recognized  and  felt,  but  which 
neither  high  nor  low  could  explain  or  describe;  and  one  by  one 
they  all  surrendered,  saying,  "  This  child  is  sent  of  God." 

All  day  long  Joan,  in  the  great  court  and  subject  to  its 
rigid  rules  of  procedure,  was  at  a  disadvantage;  her  judges 
had  things  their  own  way ;  but  at  night  she  held  court  herself, 
and  matters  were  reversed,  she  presiding,  with  her  tongue 
free  and  her  same  judges  there  before  her.  There  could 
be  but  one  result :  all  the  objections  and  hindrances  they 
could  build  around  her  with  their  hard  labors  of  the  day  she 
would  charm  away  at  night.  In  the  end,  she  carried  her 
judges  with  her  in  a  mass,  and  got  her  great  verdict  with 
out  a  dissenting  voice. 

The  court  was  a  sight  to  see  when  the  president  of  it  read 
it  from  his  throne,  for  all  the  great  people  of  the  town  were 
there  who  could  get  admission  and  find  room.  First  there 
were  some  solemn  ceremonies,  proper  and  usual  at  such 
times ;  then,  when  there  was  silence  again,  the  reading  fol 
lowed,  penetrating  the  deep  hush  so  that  every  word  was 
heard  in  even  the  remotest  parts  of  the  house  : 

"  It  is  found,  and  is  hereby  declared,  that  Joan  of  Arc, 
called  the  Maid,  is  a  good  Christian  and  good  Catholic;  that 
there  is  nothing  in  her  person  or  her  words  contrary  to  the 
faith ;  and  that  the  King  may  and  ought  to  accept  the  succor 
she  offers ;  for  to  repel  it  would  be  to  offend  the  Holy 
Spirit,  and  render  him  unworthy  of  the  aid  of  God." 

The  court  rose,  and  then  the  storm  of  plaudits  burst  forth 
unrebuked,  dying  down  and  bursting  forth  again  and  again, 
and  I  lost  sight  of  Joan,  for  she  was  swallowed  up  in  a  great 
tide  of  people  who  rushed  to  congratulate  her  and  pour  out 
benedictions  upon  her  and  upon  the  cause  of  France,  now 
solemnly  and  irrevocably  delivered  into  her  little  hands. 


CHAPTER   IX 

IT  was  indeed  a  great  day,  and  a  stirring  thing  to  see. 

She  had  won  !  It  was  a  mistake  of  Tremouille  and  her 
other  ill-wishers  to  let  her  hold  court  those  nights. 

The  commission  of  priests  sent  to  Lorraine  ostensibly  to 
inquire,  into  Joan's  character — in  fact  to  weary  her  with  delays 
and  wear  out  her  purpose  and  make  her  give  it  up — arrived 
back  and  reported  her  character  perfect.  Our  affairs  were  in 
full  career  now,  you  see. 

The  verdict  made  a  prodigious  stir.  Dead  France  woke 
suddenly  to  life,  wherever  the  great  news  travelled.  Whereas 
before,  the  spiritless  and  cowed  people  hung  their  heads  and 
slunk  away  if  one  mentioned  war  to  them,  now  they  came 
clamoring  to  be  enlisted  under  the  banner  of  the  Maid  of 
Vaucouleurs,  and  the  roaring  of  war-songs  and  the  thunder 
ing  of  the  drums  filled  all  the  air.  I  remembered  now  what 
she  had  said,  that  time  there  in  our  village  when  I  proved  by 
facts  and  statistics  that  France's  case  was  hopeless,  and  noth 
ing  could  ever  rouse  the  people  from  their  lethargy : 

"They  will  hear  the  drums  —  and  they  will  answer,  they 
will  march  !" 

It  has  been  said  that  misfortunes  never  come  one  at  a 
time,  but  in  a  body.  In  our  case  it  was  the  same  with  good 
luck.  Having  got  a  start,  it  came  flooding  in,  tide  after  tide. 
Our  next  wave  of  it  was  of  this  sort.  There  had  been  grave 
doubts  among  the  priests  as  to  whether  the  Church  ought  to 
permit  a  female  soldier  to  dress  like  a  man.  But  now  came 
a  verdict  on  that  head.  Two  of  the  greatest  scholars  and 
theologians  of  the  time — one  of  whom  had  been  Chancellor 
of  the  University  of  Paris — rendered  it.  They  decided  that 


since  Joan  "  must  do  the  work  of  a  .man  and  a  soldier,  it  is 
just  and  legitimate  that  her  apparel  should  conform  to  the 
situation." 

It  was  a  great  point  gained,  the  Church's  authority  to  dress 
as  a  man.  Oh  yes,  wave  on  wave  the  good  luck  came  sweep 
ing  in.  Never  mind  about  the  smaller  waves,  let  us  come  to 
the  largest  one  of  all,  the  wave  that  swept  us  small  fry  quite 
off  our  feet  and  almost  drowned  us  with  joy.  The  day  of  the 
great  verdict,  couriers  had  been  despatched  to  the  King  with 
it,  and  the  next  morning  bright  and  early  the  clear  notes  of  a 
bugle  came  floating  to  us  on  the  crisp  air,  and  we  pricked  up 
our  ears  and  began  to  count  them.  One — two — three  ;  pause ; 
one — two ;  pause ;  one — two — three,  again — and  out  we  skipped 
and  went  flying;  for  that  formula  was  used  only  when  the 
King's  herald-at-arms  would  deliver  a  proclamation  to  the  peo 
ple.  As  we  hurried  along,  people  came  racing  out  of  every 
street  and  house  and  alley,  men,  women,  and  children,  all  flushed, 
excited,  and  throwing  lacking  articles  of  clothing  on  as  they 
ran  ;  still  those  clear  notes  pealed  out,  and  still  the  rush  of 
people  increased  till  the  whole  town  was  abroad  and  stream 
ing  along  the  principal  street.  At  last  we  reached  the  square, 
which  was  now  packed  with  citizens,  and  there,  high  on  the 
pedestal  of  the  great  cross,  we  saw  the  herald  in  his  brilliant 
costume,  with  his  servitors  about  him.  The  next  moment 
he  began  his  delivery  in  the  powerful  voice  proper  to  his 
office  : 

"Know  all  men,  and  take  heed  therefore,  that  the  most 
high,  the  most  illustrious  Charles,  by  the  grace  of  God  King 
of  France,  hath  been  pleased  to  confer  upon  his  well-beloved 
servant  Joan  of  Arc,  called  the  Maid,  the  title,  emoluments, 
authorities,  and  dignity  of  General-in-Chief  of  the  Armies 
of  France- 
Here  a  thousand  caps  flew  into  the  air,  and  the  multitude 
burst  into  a  hurricane  of  cheers  that  raged  and  raged  till  it 
seemed  as  if  it  would  never  come  to  an  end ;  but  at  last  it 
did  ;  then  the  herald  went  on  and  finished  : 

— "  and  hath  appointed  to  be  her  lieutenant  and  chief  of 


132 


staff  a  prince  of  his  royal  house,  his  grace  the  Duke  of 
Alengon !" 

That  was  the  end,  and  the  hurricane  began  again,  and  was 
split  up  into  innumerable  strips  by  the  blowers  of  it  and 
wafted  through  all  the  lanes  and  streets  of  the  town. 

General  of  the  Armies  of  France,  with  a  prince  of  the 
blood  for  subordinate !  Yesterday  she  was  nothing — to-day 
she  was  this.  Yesterday  she  was  not  even  a  sergeant,  not 
even  a  corporal,  not  even  a  private — to-day,  with  one  step, 
she  was  at  the  top.  Yesterday  she  was  less  than  nobody  to 
the  newest  recruit — to-day  her  command  was  law  to  La  Hire, 
Saintrailles,  the  Bastard  of  Orleans,  and  all  those  others, 
veterans  of  old  renown,  illustrious  masters  of  the  trade  of  war. 
These  were  the  thoughts  I  was  thinking ;  I  was  trying  to  real 
ize  this  strange  and  wonderful  thing  that  had  happened,  you 
see. 

My  mind  went  travelling  back,  and  presently  lighted  upon 
a  picture — a  picture  which  was  still  so  new  and  fresh  in  my 
memory  that  it  seemed  a  matter  of  only  yesterday — and 
indeed  its  date  was  no  further  back  than  the  first  days  of 
January.  This  is  what  it  was.  A  peasant  girl  in  a  far- 
off  village,  her  seventeenth  year  not  yet  quite  completed, 
and  herself  and  her  village  as  unknown  as  if  they  had  been 
on  the  other  side  of  the  globe.  She  had  picked  up  a  friend 
less  wanderer  somewhere  and  brought  it  home — a  small  gray 
kitten  in  a  forlorn  and  starving  condition— and  had  fed  it  and 
comforted  it  and  got  its  confidence  and  made  it  believe  in  her, 
and  now  it  was  curled  up  in  her  lap  asleep,  and  she  was  knit 
ting  a  coarse  stocking  and  thinking — dreaming — about  what, 
one  may  never  know.  And  now — the  kitten  had  hardly  had 
time  to  become  a  cat,  and  yet  already  the  girl  is  General  of 
the  Armies  of  France,  with  a  prince  of  the  blood  to  give  orders 
to,  and  out  of  her  village  obscurity  her  name  has  climbed  up 
like  the  sun  and  is  visible  from  all  corners  of  the  land  !  It 
made  me  dizzy  to  think  of  these  things,  they  were  so  out  of 
the  common  order,  and  seemed  so  impossible. 


CHAPTER   X 

JOAN'S  first  official  act  was  to  dictate  a  letter  to  the  English 
commanders  at  Orleans,  summoning  them  to  deliver  up  all 
strongholds  in  their  possession  and  depart  out  of  France. 
She  must  have  been  thinking  it  all  out  before  and  arranging 
it  in  her  mind,  it  flowed  from  her  lips  so  smoothly,  and  framed 
itself  into  such  vivacious  and  forcible  language.  Still,  it 
might  not  have  been  so  ;  she  always  had  a  quick  mind  and  a 
capable  tongue,  and  her  faculties  were  constantly  developing 
in  these  latter  weeks.  This  letter  was  to  be  forwarded  pres 
ently  from  Blois.  Men,  provisions,  and  money  were  offering 
in  plenty  now,  and  Joan  appointed  Blois  as  a  recruiting  sta 
tion  and  depot  of  supplies,  and  ordered  up  La  Hire  from  the 
front  to  take  charge. 

The  Great  Bastard — him  of  the  ducal  house,  and  governor 
of  Orleans  —  had  been  clamoring  for  weeks  for  Joan  to  be 
sent  to  him,  and  now  came  another  messenger,  old  D'Aulon,  a 
veteran  officer,  a  trusty  man  and  fine  and  honest.  The  King 
kept  him,  and  gave  him  to  Joan  to  be  chief  of  her  household, 
and  commanded  her  to  appoint  the  rest  of  her  people  herself, 
making  their  number  and  dignity  accord  with  the  greatness 
of  her  office ;  and  at  the  same  time  he  gave  order  that  they 
should  be  properly  equipped  with  arms,  clothing,  and  horses. 

Meantime  the  King  was  having  a  complete  suit  of  armor 
made  for  her  at  Tours.  It  was  of  the  finest  steel,  heavily 
plated  with  silver,  richly  ornamented  with  engraved  designs, 
and  polished  like  a  mirror. 

Joan's  Voices  had  told  her  that  there  was  an  ancient  sword 
hidden  somewhere  behind  the  altar  of  St.  Catherine's  at  Fier- 
bois,  and  she  sent  De  Metz  to  get  it.  The  priests  knew  of 


134 

no  such  sword,  but  a  search  was  made,  and  sure  enough  it 
was  found  in  that  place,  buried  a  little  way  under  the  ground. 
It  had  no  sheath  and  was  very  rusty,  but  the  priests  polished  it 
up  and  sent  it  to  Tours,  whither  we  were  now  to  come.  They 
also  had  a  sheath  of  crimson  velvet  made  for  it,  and  the  peo 
ple  of  Tours  equipped  it  with  another  one,  made  of  cloth  of 
gold.  But  Joan  meant  to  carry  this  sword  always  in  battle  ; 
so  she  laid  the  showy  sheaths  away  and  got  one  made  of 
leather.  It  was  generally  believed  that  this  sword  had  be 
longed  to  Charlemagne,  but  that  was  only  a  matter  of  opinion. 
I  wanted  to  sharpen  that  old  blade,  but  she  said  it  was  not 
necessary,  as  she  should  never  kill  anybody,  and  should  carry 
it  only  as  a  symbol  of  authority. 

At  Tours  she  designed  her  Standard,  and  a  Scotch  painter 
named  James  Power  made  it.  It  was  of  the  most  delicate 
white  boucassin,  with  fringes  of  silk.  For  device  it  bore  the 
image  of  God  the  Father  throned  in  the  clouds  and  holding 
the  world  in  His  hand  ;  two  angels  knelt  at  His  feet,  present 
ing  lilies;  inscription,  JESUS,  MARIA;  on  the  reverse  the  crown 
of  France  supported  by  two  angels. 

She  also  caused  a  smaller  standard  or  pennon  to  be  made, 
whereon  was  represented  an  angel  offering  a  lily  to  the  Holy 
Virgin. 

Everything  was  humming,  there  at  Tours.  Every  now  and 
then  one  heard  the  bray  and  crash  of  military  music,  every 
little  while  one  heard  the  measured  tramp  of  marching  men — 
squads  of  recruits  leaving  for  Blois ;  songs  and  shoutings  and 
huzzas  filled  the  air  night  and  day,  the  town  was  full  of  stran 
gers,  the  streets  and  inns  were  thronged,  the  bustle  of  prepa 
ration  was  everywhere,  and  everybody  carried  a  glad  and  cheer 
ful  face.  Around  Joan's  headquarters  a  crowd  of  people  was 
always  massed,  hoping  for  a  glimpse  of  the  new  General,  and 
when  they  got  it,  they  went  wild ;  but  they  seldom  got  it,  for 
she  was  busy  planning  her  campaign,  receiving  reports,  giving 
orders,  despatching  couriers,  and  giving  what  odd  moments 
she  could  spare  to  the  companies  of  great  folk  waiting  in  the 


135 


drawing-rooms.  As  for  us  boys,  we  hardly  saw  her  at  all,  she 
was  so  occupied. 

We  were  in  a  mixed  state  of  mind — sometimes  hopeful, 
sometimes  not ;  mostly  not.  She  had  not  appointed  her  house 
hold  yet — that  was  our  trouble.  We  knew  she  was  being  over 
run  with  applications  for  places  in  it,  and  that  these  appli 
cations  were  backed  by  great  names  and  weighty  influence, 
whereas  we  had  nothing  of  the  sort  to  recommend  us.  She 
could  fill  her  humblest  places  with  titled  folk— folk  whose  re 
lationships  would  be  a  bulwark  for  her  and  a  valuable  sup 
port  at  all  times.  In  these  circumstances  would  policy  allow 
her  to  consider  us  ?  We  were  not  as  cheerful  as  the  rest  of 
the  town,  but  were  inclined  to  be  depressed  and  worried. 
Sometimes  we  discussed  our  slim  chances  and  gave  them  as 
good  an  appearance  as  we  could.  But  the  very  mention  of 
the  subject  was  anguish  to  the  Paladin ;  for  whereas  we  had 
some  little  hope,  he  had  none  at  all.  As  a  rule,  Noel  Rain- 
guesson  was  quite  willing  to  let  the  dismal  matter  alone ;  but 
not  when  the  Paladin  was  present.  Once  we  were  talking  the 
thing  over,  when  Noel  said — 

"  Cheer  up,  Paladin ;  I  had  a  dream  last  night,  and  you 
were  the  only  one  among  us  that  got  an  appointment.  It 
wasn't  a  high  one,  but  it  was  an  appointment,  anyway — some 
kind  of  a  lackey  or  body-servant,  or  something  of  that  kind." 

The  Paladin  roused  up  and  looked  almost  cheerful ;  for  he 
was  a  believer  in  dreams,  and  in  anything  and  everything  of 
a  superstitious  sort,  in  fact.  He  said,  with  a  rising  hopeful 
ness— 

"  I  wish  it  might  come  true.  Do  you  think  it  will  come 
true  ?" 

"  Certainly ;  I  might  almost  say  I  know  it  will,  for  my 
dreams  hardly  ever  fail." 

"  Noel,  I  could  hug  you  if  that  dream  could  come  true,  I 
could  indeed  !  To  be  servant  to  the  first  General  of  France 
and  have  all  the  world  hear  of  it,  and  the  news  go  back  to 
the  village  and  make  those  gawks  stare  that  always  said  I 
wouldn't  ever  amount  to  anything  —  wouldn't  it  be  great! 


136 


Do  you  think  it  will  come  true,  Noel  ?  Don't  you  believe  it 
will  ?" 

"  I  do.     There's  my  hand  on  it." 

"  Noel,  if  it  comes  true  I'll  never  forget  you — shake  again  ! 
I  should  be  dressed  in  a  noble  livery,  and  the  news  would  go 
to  the  village,  and  those  animals  would  say,  '  Him,  lackey  to 
the  General-in-Chief,  with  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world  on 
him,  admiring — well,  he  has  shot  up  into  the  sky,  now,  hasn't 
he  !'  " 

He  began  to  walk  the  floor  and  pile  castles  in  the  air  so 
fast  and  so  high  that  we  could  hardly  keep  up  with  him. 
Then  all  of  a  sudden  all  the  joy  went  out  of  his  face  and 
misery  took  its  place,  and  he  said : 

"  Oh  dear,  it  is  all  a  mistake,  it  will  never  come  true.  I  for 
got  about  that  foolish  business  at  Toul.  I  have  kept  out  of  her 
sight  as  much  as  I  could,  all  these  weeks,  hoping  she  would 
forget  that  and  forgive  it — but  I  know  she  never  will.  She 
can't,  of  course.  And  after  all,  I  wasn't  to  blame.  I  did  say 
she  promised  to  marry  me,  but  they  put  me  up  to  it  and  per 
suaded  me,  I  swear  they  did  !"  The  vast  creature  was  almost 
crying.  Then  he  pulled  himself  together  and  said,  remorse 
fully,  "  It  was  the  only  lie  Tve  ever  told,  and— 

He  was  drowned  out  with  a  chorus  of  groans  and  outraged 
exclamations  ;  and  before  he  could  begin  again,  one  of  D'Au- 
lon's  liveried  servants  appeared  and  said  we  were  required  at 
headquarters.  We  rose,  and  Noel  said — • 

"There — what  did  I  tell  you?  I  have  a  presentiment — 
the  spirit  of  prophecy  is  upon  me.  She  is  going  to  appoint 
him,  and  we  are  to  go  there  and  do  him  homage.  Come 
along !" 

But  the  Paladin  was  afraid  to  go,  so  we  left  him. 

When  we  presently  stood  in  the  presence,  in  front  of  a 
crowd  of  glittering  officers  of  the  army,  Joan  greeted  us  with 
a  winning  smile,  and  said  she  appointed  all  of  us  to  places  in 
her  household,  for  she  wanted  her  old  friends  by  her.  It  was 
a  beautiful  surprise  to  have  ourselves  honored  like  this  when 
she  could  have  had  people  of  birth  and  consequence  instead, 


137 

but  we  couldn't  find  our  tongues  to  say  so,  she  was  become 
so  great  and  so  high  above  us  now.  One  at  a  time  we  stepped 
forward  and  each  received  his  warrant  from  the  hand  of  our 
chief,  D'Aulon.  All  of  us  had  honorable  places  :  the  two 
knights  stood  highest ;  then  Joan's  two  brothers  ;  I  was  first 
page  and  secretary,  a  young  gentleman  named  Raimond  was 
second  page ;  Noel  was  her  messenger ;  she  had  two  heralds, 
and  also  a  chaplain  and  almoner,  whose  name  was  Jean  Pas- 
querel.  She  had  previously  appointed  a  maitre  d'hotel  and 
a  number  of  domestics.  Now  she  looked  around  and  said — 

"  But  where  is  the  Paladin  ?" 

The  Sieur  Bertrand  said — 

"  He  thought  he  was  not  sent  for,  your  Excellency." 

"  Now  that  is  not  well.     Let  him  be  called." 

The  Paladin  entered  humbly  enough.  He  ventured  no 
farther  than  just  within  the  door.  He  stopped  there,  looking 
embarrassed  and  afraid.  Then  Joan  spoke  pleasantly,  and 
said — 

"  I  watched  you  on  the  road.  You  began  badly,  but  im 
proved.  Of  old  you  were  a  fantastic  talker,  but  there  is  a  man 
in  you,  and  I  will  bring  it  out."  It  was  fine  to  see  the  Pala 
din's  face  light  up  when  she  said  that.  "  Will  you  follow 
where  I  lead  ?" 

"  Into  the  fire  !"  he  said ;  and  I  said  to  myself,  "  By  the 
ring  of  that,  I  think  she  has  turned  this  braggart  into  a  hero. 
It  is  another  of  her  miracles,  I  make  no  doubt  of  it." 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  Joan.  "  Here — take  my  banner.  You 
will  ride  with  me  in  every  field,  and  when  France  is  saved,  you 
will  give  it  me  back." 

He  took  the  banner,  which  is  now  the  most  precious  of  the 
memorials  that  remain  of  Joan  of  Arc,  and  his  voice  was  un 
steady  with  emotion  when  he  said — 

"  If  I  ever  disgrace  this  trust,  my  comrades  here  will  know 
how  to  do  a  friend's  office  upon  my  body,  and  this  charge.  I 
lay  upon  them,  as  knowing  they  will  not  fail  me." 


CHAPTER   XI 

NOEL  and  I  went  back  together — silent  at  first,  and  im 
pressed.  Finally  Noel  came  up  out  of  his  thinkings  and 
said — 

"  The  first  shall  be  last  and  the  last  first — there's  authority 
for  this  surprise.  But  at  the  same  time  wasn't  it  a  lofty  hoist 
for  our  big  bull  !" 

"  It  truly  was  ;  I  am  not  over  being  stunned  yet.  It  was 
the  greatest  place  in  her  gift." 

"Yes,  it  was.  There  are  many  generals,  and  she  can 
create  more ;  but  there  is  only  one  Standard-Bearer." 

"True.  It  is  the  most  conspicuous  place  in  the  army, 
after  her  own." 

"  And  the  most  coveted  and  honorable.  Sons  of  two  dukes 
tried  to  get  it,  as  we  know.  And  of  all  people  in  the  world, 
this  majestic  windmill  carries  it  off.  Well,  isn't  it  a  gigantic 
promotion,  when  you  come  to  look  at  it !" 

"There's  no  doubt  about  it.  It's  a  kind  of  copy  of  Joan's 
own  in  miniature." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  account  for  it — do  you  ?" 

"Yes — without  any  trouble  at  all — that  is,  I  think  I  do." 

Noel  was  surprised  at  that,  and  glanced  up  quickly,  as  if 
to  see  if  I  v»as  in  earnest.  He  said— 

"  I  thought  you  couldn't  be  in  earnest,  but  I  see  you  are. 
If  you  can  make  me  understand  this  puzzle,  do  it.  Tell  me 
what  the  explanation  is." 

-  "I  believe  I  can.  You  have  noticed  that  our  chief  knight 
says  a  good  many  wise  things  and  has  a  thoughtful  head  on 
his  shoulders.  One  day,  riding  along,  we  were  talking  about 
Joan's  great  talents,  and  he  said,  '  But,  greatest  of  all  her 


139 

gifts,  she  has  the  seeing  eye.'  I  said,  like  an  unthinking  fool, 
'  The  seeing  eye  ? — I  shouldn't  count  that  for  much — I  sup 
pose  we  all  have  it.'  '  No,'  he  said ;  '  very  few  have  it.'  Then 
he  explained,  and  made  his  meaning  clear.  He  said  the  com 
mon  eye  sees  only  the  outside  of  things,  and  judges  by  that, 
but  the  seeing  eye  pierces  through  and  reads  the  heart  and 
the  soul,  finding  there  capacities  which  the  outside  didn't  in 
dicate  or  promise,  and  which  the  other  kind  of  eye  couldn't 
detect.  He  said  the  mightiest  military  genius  must  fail  and 
come  to  nothing  if  it  have  not  the  seeing  eye — that  is  to  say, 
if  it  cannot  read  men  and  select  its  subordinates  with  an  in 
fallible  judgment.  It  sees  as  by  intuition  that  this  man  is 
good  for  strategy,  that  one  for  dash  and  dare-devil  assault, 
the  other  for  patient  bull -dog  persistence,  and  it  appoints 
each  to  his  right  place  and  wins,  while  the  commander  with 
out  the  seeing  eye  would  give  to  each  the  other's  place  and 
lose.  He  was  right  about  Joan,  and  I  saw  it.  When  she 
was  a  child  and  the  tramp  came  one  night,  her  father  and  all 
of  us  took  him  for  a  rascal,  but  she  saw  the  honest  man 
through  the  rags.  When  I  dined  with  the  governor  of  Vau- 
couleurs  so  long  ago,  I  saw  nothing  in  our  two  knights, 
though  I  sat  with  them  and  talked  with  them  two  hours ; 
Joan  was  there  five  minutes,  and  neither  spoke  with  them  nor 
heard  them  speak,  yet  she  marked  them  for  men  of  worth 
and  fidelity,  and  they  have  confirmed  her  judgment.  Whom 
has  she  sent  for  to  take  charge  of  this  thundering  rabble  of 
new  recruits  at  Blois,  made  up  of  old  disbanded  Armagnac 
raiders,  unspeakable  hellions,  every  one  ?  Why,  she  has  sent 
for  Satan  himself — that  is  to  say,  La  Hire — that  military  hur 
ricane,  that  godless  swashbuckler,  that  lurid  conflagration  of 
blasphemy,  that  Vesuvius  of  profanity,  forever  in  eruption. 
Does  he  know  how  to  deal  with  that  mob  of  roaring  devils  ? 
Better  than  any  man  that  lives  ;  for  he  is  the  head  devil  of 
this  world  his  own  self,  he  is  the  match  of  the  whole  of  them 
combined,  and  probably  the  father  of  most  of  them.  She 
places  him  in  temporary  command  until  she  can  get  to  Blois 
herself — and  then  !  Why,  then  she  will  certainly  take  them. 


140 


in  hand  personally,  or  I  don't  know  her  as  well  as  I  ought  to, 
after  all  these  years  of  intimacy.  That  will  be  a  sight  to  see 
— that  fair  spirit  in  her  white  armor,  delivering  her  will  to 
that  muck-heap,  that  rag-pile,  that  abandoned  refuse  of  per 
dition." 

"  La  Hire  !"  cried  Noel,  "our  hero  of  all  these  years — I  do 
want  to  see  that  man  !" 

"  I  too.  His  name  stirs  me  just  as  it  did  when  I  was  a 
little  boy." 

"  I  want  to  hear  him  swear." 

"  Of  course.  I  would  rather  hear  him  swear  than  another 
man  pray.  He  is  the  frankest  man  there  is,  and  the  naivest. 
Once  when  he  was  rebuked  for  pillaging  on  his  raids,  he  said 
it  was  nothing.  Said  he,  '  If  God  the  Father  were  a  soldier, 
He  would  rob.'  I  judge  he  is  the  right  man  to  take  tempo 
rary  charge  there  at  Blois.  Joan  has  cast  the  seeing  eye 
upon  him,  you  see." 

"Which  brings  us  back  to  where  we  started.  I  have  an 
honest  affection  for  the  Paladin,  and  not  merely  because  he 
is  a  good  fellow,  but  because  he  is  my  child — I  made  him 
what  he  is,  the  windiest  blusterer  and  most  catholic  liar  in 
the  kingdom.  I'm  glad  of  his  luck,  but  I  hadn't  the  seeing 
eye.  I  shouldn't  have  chosen  him  for  the  most  dangerous 
post  in  the  army,  I  should  have  placed  him  in  the  rear  to 
kill  the  wounded  and  violate  the  dead." 

"Well,  we  shall  see.  Joan  probably  knows  what  is  in  him 
better  than  we  do.  And  I'll  give  you  another  idea.  When  a 
person  in  Joan  of  Arc's  position  tells  a  man  he  is  brave,  he 
believes  it ;  and  believing  it  is  enough  ;  in  fact  to  believe 
yourself  brave  is  to  be  brave ;  it  is  the  one  only  essential 
thing." 

"  Now  you've  hit  it !"  cried  Noel.  "  She's  got  the  creating 
mouth  as  well  as  the  seeing  eye  !  Ah  yes,  that  is  the  thing. 
France  was  cowed  and  a  coward ;  Joan  of  Arc  has  spoken, 
and  France  is  marching,  with  her  head  up  !" 

I  was  summoned  now,  to  write  a  letter  from  Joan's  dicta 
tion.  During  the  next  day  and  night  our  several  uniforms 


were  made  by  the  tailors,  and  our  new  armor  provided.  We 
were  beautiful  to  look  upon  now,  whether  clothed  for  peace 
or  war.  Clothed  for  peace,  in  costly  stuffs  and  rich  colors, 
the  Paladin  was  a  tower  dyed  with  the  glories  of  the  sunset ; 
plumed  and  sashed  and  iron  -  clad  for  war,  he  was  a  still 
statelier  thing  to  look  at. 

Orders  had  been  issued  for  the  march  towards  Blois.  It 
was  a  clear,  sharp,  beautiful  morning.  As  our  showy  great 
company  trotted  out  in  column,  riding  two  and  two,  Joan  and 
the  Duke  of  Alenc,on  in  the  lead,  D'Aulon  and  the  big  stand 
ard-bearer  next,  and  so  on,  we  made  a  handsome  spectacle, 
as  you  may  well  imagine  ;  and  as  we  ploughed  through  the 
cheering  crowds,  with  Joan  bowing  her  plumed  head  to  left 
and  right  and  the  sun  glinting  from  her  silver  mail,  the  spec 
tators  realized  that  the  curtain  was  rolling  up  before  their 
eyes  upon  the  first  act  of  a  prodigious  drama,  and  their  rising 
hopes  were  expressed  in  an  enthusiasm  that  increased  with 
each  moment,  until  at  last  one  seemed  to  even  physically  feel 
the  concussion  of  the  huzzas  as  well  as  hear  them.  Far  down 
the  street  we  heard  the  softened  strains  of  wind-blown  music, 
and  saw  a  cloud  of  lancers  moving,  the  sun  glowing  with  a 
subdued  light  upon  the  massed  armor  but  striking  bright 
upon  the  soaring  lance-heads — a  vaguely  luminous  nebula,  so 
to  speak,  with  a  constellation  twinkling  above  it — and  that 
was  our  guard  of  honor.  It  joined  us,  the  procession  was 
complete,  the  first  war-march  of  Joan  of  Arc  was  begun,  the 
curtain  was  up. 


CHAPTER   XII 

WE  were  at  Blois  three  days.  Oh,  that  camp,  it  is  one  of 
the  treasures  of  my  memory  !  Order  ?  There  was  no  more 
order  among  those  brigands  than  there  is  among  the  wolves 
and  the  hyenas.  They  went  roaring  and  drinking  about, 
whooping,  shouting,  swearing,  and  entertaining  themselves 
with  all  manner  of  rude  and  riotous  horse -play;  and  the 
place  was  full  of  loud  and  lewd  women,  and  they  were  no 
whit  behind  the  men  for  romps  and  noise  and  fantastics. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  wild  mob  that  Noel  and  I  had 
our  first  glimpse  of  La  Hire.  He  answered  to  our  dearest 
dreams.  He  was  of  great  size  and  of  martial  bearing,  he  was 
cased  in  mail  from  head  to  heel,  with  a  bushel  of  swishing 
plumes  on  his  helmet,  and  at  his  side  the  vast  sword  of  the 
time. 

He  was  on  his  way  to  pay  his  respects  in  state  to  Joan, 
and  as  he  passed  through  the  camp  he  was  restoring  order, 
and  proclaiming  that  the  Maid  was  come,  and  he  would  have 
no  such  spectacle  as  this  exposed  to  the  head  of  the  army. 
His  way  of  creating  order  was  his  own,  not  borrowed.  He 
did  it  with  his  great  fists.  As  he  moved  along  swearing  and 
admonishing,  he  let  drive  this  way,  that  way,  and  the  other, 
and  wherever  his  blow  landed,  a  man  went  down. 

"  Damn  you  !"  he  said,  "  staggering  and  cursing  around  like 
this,  and  the  Commander-in-Chief  in  the  camp !  Straighten 
up !"  and  he  laid  the  man  flat.  What  his  idea  of  straighten 
ing  up  was,  was  his  own  secret. 

We  followed  the  veteran  to  headquarters,  listening,  observ 
ing,  admiring — yes,  devouring,  you  may  say,  the  pet  hero  of 
the  boys  of  France  from  our  cradles  up  to  that  happy  day,  and 


143 

their  idol  and  ours.  I  called  to  mind  how  Joan  had  once  re 
buked  the  Paladin,  there  in  the  pastures  of  Domremy,  for  ut 
tering  lightly  those  mighty  names,  La  Hire  and  the  Bastard 
of  Orleans,  and  how  she  said  that  if  she  could  but  be  permit 
ted  to  stand  afar  off  and  let  her  eyes  rest  once  upon  those 
great  men, -she  would  hold  it  a  privilege.  They  were  to  her 
and  the  other  girls  just  what  they  were  to  the  boys.  Well, 
here  was  one  of  them,  at  last — and  what  was  his  errand  ?  It 
was  hard  to  realize  it,  and  yet  it  was  true ;  he  was  coming  to 
uncover  his  head  before  her  and  take  her  orders. 

While  he  was  quieting  a  considerable  group  of  his  brigands 
in  his  soothing  way,  near  headquarters,  we  stepped  on  ahead 
and  got  a  glimpse  of  Joan's  military  family,  the  great  chiefs  of 
the  army,  for  they  had  all  arrived  now.  There  they  were,  six 
officers  of  wide  renown,  handsome  men  in  beautiful  armor,  but 
the  Lord  High  Admiral  of  France  was  the  handsomest  of 
them  all  and  had  the  most  gallant  bearing. 

When  La  Hire  entered,  one  could  see  the  surprise  in  his 
face  at  Joan's  beauty  and  extreme  youth,  and  one  could  see, 
too,  by  Joan's  glad  smile,  that  it  made  her  happy  to  get  sight 
of  this  hero  of  her  childhood  at  last.  La  Hire  bowed  low, 
with  his  helmet  in  his  gauntleted  hand,  and  made  a  bluff  but 
handsome  little  speech  with  hardly  an  oath  in  it,  and  one 
coulcl  see  that  those  two  took  to  each  other  on  the  spot. 

The  visit  of  ceremony  was  soon  over,  and  the  others  went 
away ;  but  La  Hire  stayed,  and  he  and  Joan  sat  there,  and  he 
sipped  her  wine,  and  they  talked  and  laughed  together  like 
old  friends.  And  presently  she  gave  him  some  instructions, 
in  his  quality  as  master  of  the  camp,  which  made  his  breath 
stand  still.  For,  to  begin  with,  she  said  that  all  those  loose 
women  must  pack  out  of  the  place  at  once,  she  wouldn't  allow 
one  of  them  to  remain.  Next,  the  rough  carousing  must  stop, 
drinking  must  be  brought  within  proper  and  strictly  defined 
limits,  and  discipline  must  take  the  place  of  disorder.  And 
finally  she  climaxed  the  list  of  surprises  with  this — which 
nearly  lifted  him  out  of  his  armor: 

"  Every  man  who  joins  my  standard  must  confess  before 


144 

the  priest  and  absolve  himself  from  sin  •  and  all  accepted  re 
cruits  must  be  present  at  divine  service  twice  a  day." 

La  Hire  could  not  say  a  word  for  a  good  part  of  a  minute, 
then  he  said,  in  deep  dejection  : 

"  Oh,  sweet  child,  they  were  littered  in  hell,  these  poor  dar 
lings  of  mine  !  Attend  mass  ?  Why,  dear  heart,  they'll  see  us 
both  damned  first!" 

And  he  went  on,  pouring  out  a  most  pathetic  stream  of  ar 
guments  and  blasphemy,  which  broke  Joan  all  up,  and  made 
her  laugh  as  she  had  not  laughed  since  she  played  in  the 
Domremy  pastures.  It  was  good  to  hear. 

But  she  stuck  to  her  point ;  so  the  soldier  yielded,  and  said 
all  right,  if  such  were  the  orders  he  must  obey.-  and  would  do 
the  best  that  was  in  him  ;  then  he  refreshed  himself  with  a 
lurid  explosion  of  oaths,  and  said  that  if  any  man  in  the  camp 
refused  to  renounce  sin  and  lead  a  pious  life,  he  would  knock 
his  head  off.  That  started  Joan  off  again  :  she  was  really 
having  a  good  time,  you  see.  But  she  would  not  consent  to 
that  form  of  conversions.  She  said  they  must  be  voluntary. 

La  Hire  said  that  that  was  all  right,  he  wasn't  going  to  kill 
the  voluntary  ones,  but  only  the  others. 

No  matter,  none  of  them  must  be  killed — Joan  couldn't 
have  it.  She  said  that  to  give  a  man  a  chance  to  volunteer, 
on  pain  of  death  if  he  didn't,  left  him  more  or  less  trammelled, 
and  she  wanted  him  to  be  entirely  free. 

So  the  soldier  sighed  and  said  he  would  advertise  the  mass, 
but  said  he  doubted  if  there  was  a  man  in  camp  that  was  any 
more  likely  to  go  to  it  than  he  was  himself.  Then  there  was 
another  surprise  for  him,  for  Joan  said — 

"  But  dear  man,_>w  are  going  !" 

"  I  ?     Impossible  1     Oh,  this  is  lunacy  !" 

"  Oh  no,  it  isn't.    You  are  going  to  the  service— twice  a  day." 

"  Oh,  am  I  dreaming  ?  Am  I  drunk — or  is  my  hearing  play 
ing  me  false  ?  Why,  I  would  rather  go  to — " 

"  Never  mind  where.  In  the  morning  you  are  going  to  be 
gin,  and  after  that  it  will  come  easy.  Now  don't  look  down 
hearted  like  that.  Soon  you  won't  mind  it." 


La  Hire  tried  to  cheer  up,  but  he  was  not  able  to  do  it.  He 
sighed  like  a  zephyr,  and  presently  said — 

"  Well,  I'll  do  it  for  you,  but  before  I  would  do  it  for  another, 
I  swear  I—" 

"  But  don't  swear.     Break  it  off." 

"  Break  it  off  ?  It  is  impossible.  I  beg  you  to — to — 
Why — oh,  my  General,  it  is  my  native  speech  !" 

He  begged  so  hard  for  grace  for  his  impediment,  that  Joan 
left  him  one  fragment  of  it ;  she  said  he  might  swear  by  his 
baton,  the  symbol  of  his  generalship. 

He  promised  that  he  would  swear  only  by  his  baton  when 
in  her  presence,  and  would  try  to  modify  himself  elsewhere, 
but  doubted  if  he  could  manage  it,  now  that  it  was  so  old  and 
stubborn  a  habit,  and  such  a  solace  and  support  to  his  de 
clining  years. 

That  tough  old  lion  went  away  from  there  a  good  deal  tamed 
and  civilized— not  to  say  softened  and  sweetened,  for  perhaps 
those  expressions  would  hardly  fit  him.  Noel  and  I  believed 
that  when  he  was  away  from  Joan's  influence  his  old  aversions 
would  come  up  so  strong  in  him  that  he  could  not  master 
them,  and  so  wouldn't  go  to  mass.  But  we  got  up  early  in 
the  morning  to  see. 

Well,  he  really  went.  It  was  hardly  believable,  but  there 
he  was,  striding  along,  holding  himself  grimly  to  his  duty,  and 
looking  as  pious  as  he  could,  but  growling  and  cursing  like  a 
fiend.  It  was  another  instance  of  the  same  old  thing :  who 
ever  listened  to  the  voice  and  looked  into  the  eyes  of  Joan  of 
Arc  fell  under  a  spell,  and  was  not  his  own  man  any  more. 

Satan  was  converted,  you  see.  Well,  the  rest  followed. 
Joan  rode  up  and  down  that  camp,  and  wherever  that  fair 
young  form  appeared  in  its  shining  armor,  with  that  sweet 
face  to  grace  the  vision  and  perfect  it,  the  rude  host  seemed 
to  think  they  saw  the  god  of  war  in  person,  descended  out  of 
the  clouds ;  and  first  they  wondered,  then  they  worshipped. 
After  that,  she  could  do  with  them  what  she  would. 

In  three  days  it  was  a  clean  camp  and  orderly,  and  those 
barbarians  were  herding  to  divine  service  twice  a  day  like 


146 


good  children.  The  women  were  gone.  La  Hire  was  stunned 
by  these  marvels ;  he  could  not  understand  them.  He  went 
outside  the  camp  when  he  wanted  to  swear.  He  was  that 
sort  of  a  man— sinful  by  nature  and  habit,  but  full  of  super 
stitious  respect  for  holy  places. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  reformed  army  for  Joan,  its  devotion 
to  her,  and  the  hot  desire  she  had  aroused  in  it  to  be  led 
against  the  enemy,  exceeded  any  manifestations  of  this  sort 
which  La  Hire  had  ever  seen  before  in  his  long  career.  His 
admiration  of  it  all,  and  his  wonder  over  the  mystery  and  mir 
acle  of  it,  were  beyond  his  power  to  put  into  words.  He  had 
held  this  army  cheap  before,  but  his  pride  and  confidence  in 
it  knew  no  limits  now.  He  said — 

"  Two  or  three  days  ago  it  was  afraid  of  a  hen-roost ;  one 
could  storm  the  gates  of  hell  with  it  now." 

Joan  and  he  were  inseparable,  and  a  quaint  and  pleasant 
contrast  they  made.  He  was  so  big,  she  so  little ;  he  was  so 
gray  and  so  far  along  in  his  pilgrimage  of  life,  she  so  youth 
ful  ;  his  face  was  so  bronzed  and  scarred,  hers  so  fair  and 
pink,  so  fresh  and  smooth  ;  she  was  so  gracious,  and  he  so 
stern ;  she  was  so  pure,  so  innocent,  he  such  a  cyclopaedia  of 
sin.  In  her  eye  was  stored  all  charity  and  compassion,  in  his 
lightnings ;  when  her  glance  fell  upon  you  it  seemed  to  bring 
benediction  and  the  peace  of  God,  but  with  his  it  was  different, 
generally. 

They  rode  through  the  camp  a  dozen  times  a  day,  visiting 
every  corner  of  it,  observing,  inspecting,  perfecting  ;  and  wher 
ever  they  appeared  the  enthusiasm  broke  forth.  They  rode 
side  by  side,  he  a  great  figure  of  brawn  and  muscle,  she  a  lit 
tle  master-work  of  roundness  and  grace  ;  he  a  fortress  of  rusty 
iron,  she  a  shining  statuette  of  silver ;  and  when  the  reformed 
raiders  and  bandits  caught  sight  of  them  they  spoke  out,  with 
affection  and  welcome  in  their  voices,  and  said— 

"  There  they  come — Satan  and  the  Page  of  Christ !" 

All  the  three  days  that  we  were  in  Blois,  Joan  worked  ear 
nestly  and  tirelessly  to  bring  La  Hire  to  God — to  rescue  him 
from  the  bondage  of  sin — to  breathe  into  his  stormy  heart  the 


147 


serenity  and  peace  of  religion.  She  urged,  she  begged,  she 
implored  him  to  pray.  He  stood  out,  the  three  days  of  our 
stay,  begging  almost  piteously  to  be  let  off — to  be  let  off  from 
just  that  one  thing,  that  impossible  thing;  he  would  do  any 
thing  else  —  anything  —  command,  and  he  would  obey  —  he 
would  go  through  the  fire  for  her  if  she  said  the  word — but 
spare  him  this,  only  this,  for  he  couldn't  pray,  had  never 
prayed,  he  was  ignorant  of  how  to  frame  a  prayer,  he  had  no 
words  to  put  it  in. 

And  yet — can  any  believe  it  ? — she  carried  even  that  point, 
she  won  that  incredible  victory.  She  made  La  Hire  pray.  It 
shows,  I  think,  that  nothing  was  impossible  to  Joan  of  Arc. 
Yes,  he  stood  there  before  her  and  put  up  his  mailed  hands 
and  made  a  prayer.  And  it  was  not  borrowed,  but  was  his 
very  own  ;  he  had  none  to  help  him  frame  it,  he  made  it  out 
of  his  own  head — saying  : 

"  Fair  Sir  God,  I  pray  you  to  do  by  La  Hire  as  he  would 
do  by  you  if  you  were  La  Hire  and  he  were  God."  * 

Then  he  put  on  his  helmet  and  marched  out  of  Joan's 
tent  as  satisfied  with  himself  as  any  one  might  be  who  has 
arranged  a  perplexed  and  difficult  business  to  the  content 
and  admiration  of  all  the  parties  concerned  in  the  matter. 

If  I  had  known  that  he  had  been  praying,  I  could  have 
understood  why  he  was  feeling  so  superior,  but  of  course.  I 
could  not  know  that. 

I  was  coming  to  the  tent  at  that  moment,  and  saw  him 
come  out,  and  saw  him  march  away  in  tfrat  large  fashion,  and 
indeed  it  was  fine  and  beautiful  to  see.  But  when  I  got  to 
the  tent  door  I  stopped  and  stepped  back,  grieved  and 
shocked,  for  I  heard  Joan  crying,  as  I  mistakenly  thought — 
crying  as  if  she  could  not  contain  nor  endure  the  anguish  of 
her  soul,  crying  as  if  she  would  die.  But  it  was  not  so,  she 
was  laughing — laughing  at  La  Hire's  prayer. 

*  This  prayer  has  been  stolen  many  times  and  by  many  nations  in  the 
past  four  hundred  and  sixty  years,  but  it  originated  with  La  Hire,  and  the 
fact  is  of  official  record  in  the  National  Archives  of  France.  We  have  the 
authority  of  Michelet  for  this.  —  TRANSLATOR. 


148 

It  was  not  until  six-and-thirty  years  afterwards  that  I  found 
that  out,  and  then — oh,  then  I  only  cried  when  that  picture 
of  young  care-free  mirth  rose  before  me  out  of  the  blur  and 
mists  of  that  long-vanished  time  ;  for  there  had  come  a  day 
between,  when  God's  good  gift  of  laughter  had  gone  out  from 
me  to  come  again  no  more  in  this  life. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WE  marched  out  in  great  strength  and  splendor,  and  took 
the  road  toward  Orleans.  The  initial  part  of  Joan's  great 
dream  was  realizing  itself  at  last.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
any  of  us  youngsters  had  ever  seen  an  army,  and  it  was  a 
most  stately  and  imposing  spectacle  to  us.  It  was  indeed  an 
inspiring  sight,  that  interminable  column,  stretching  away  into 
the  fading  distances,  and  curving  itself  in  and  out  of  the 
crookedness  of  the  road  like  a  mighty  serpent.  Joan  rode  at 
the  head  of  it  with  her  personal  staff ;  then  came  a  body  of 
priests  singing  the  Veni  Creator,  the  banner  of  the  Cross  rising 
out  of  their  midst;  after  these  the  glinting  forest  of  spears. 
The  several  divisions  were  commanded  by  the  great  Armagnac 
generals,  La  Hire,  the  Marshal  de  Boussac,  the  Sire  de  Retz, 
Florent  d'llliers,  and  Poton  de  Saintrailles. 

Each  in  his  degree  was  tough,  and  there  were  three  degrees 
— tough,  tougher,  toughest — and  La  Hire  was  the  last  by  a 
shade,  but  only  a  shade.  They  were  just  illustrious  official 
brigands,  the  whole  party ;  and  by  long  habits  of  lawlessness 
they  had  lost  all  acquaintanceship  with  obedience,  if  they  had 
ever  had  any. 

The  King's  strict  orders  to  them  had  been,  "  Obey  the 
General-in-Chief  in  everything ;  attempt  nothing  without  her 
knowledge,  do  nothing  without  her  command." 

But  what  was  the  good  of  saying  that  ?  These  indepen 
dent  birds  knew  no  law.  They  seldom  obeyed  the  King; 
they  never  obeyed  him  when  it  didn't  suit  them  to  do  it. 
Would  they  obey  the  Maid  ?  In  the  first  place  they  wouldn't 
know  how  to  obey  her  or  anybody  else,  and  in  the  second 
place  it  was  of  course  not  possible  for  them  to  take  her  mili- 


I5Q 

tary  character  seriously— that  country  girl  of  seventeen  who 
had  been  trained  for  the  complex  and  terrible  business  of 
war — how  ?  By  tending  sheep. 

They  had  no  idea  of  obeying  her  except  in  cases  where 
their  veteran  military  knowledge  and  experience  showed  them 
that  the  thing  she  required  was  sound  and  right  when  gauged 
by  the  regular  military  standards.  Were  they  to  blame  for 
this  attitude  ?  I  should  think  not.  Old  war-worn  captains 
are  hard-headed,  practical  men.  They  do  not  easily  believe 
in  the  ability  of  ignorant  children  to  plan  campaigns  and 
command  armies.  No  general  that  ever  lived  could  have 
taken  Joan  seriously  (militarily)  before  she  raised  the  siege 
of  Orleans  and  followed  it  with  the  great  campaign  of  the 
Loire. 

Did  they  consider  Joan  valueless  ?  Far  from  it.  They 
valued  her  as  the  fruitful  earth  values  the  sun — they  fully  be 
lieved  she  could  produce  the  crop,  but  that  it  was  in  their 
line  of  business,  not  hers,  to  take  it  off.  They  had  a  deep 
and  superstitious  reverence  for  her  as  being  endowed  with  a 
mysterious  supernatural  something  that  was  able  to  do  a 
mighty  thing  which  they  were  powerless  to  do  —  blow  the 
breath  of  life  and  valor  into  the  dead  corpses  of  cowed 
armies  and  turn  them  into  heroes. 

To  their  minds  they  were  everything  with  her,  but  nothing 
without  her.  She  could  inspire  the  soldiers  and  fit  them  for 
battle — but  fight  the  battle  herself  ?  Oh,  nonsense — that  was 
their  function.  They,  the  generals,  would  fight  the  battles, 
Joan  would  give  the  victory.  That  was  their  idea — an  un 
conscious  paraphrase  of  Joan's  reply  to  the  Dominican. 

So  they  began  by  playing  a  deception  upon  her.  She  had 
a  clear  idea  of  how  she  meant  to  proceed.  It  was  her  pur 
pose  to  march  boldly  upon  Orleans  by  the  north  bank  of  the 
Loire.  She  gave  that  order  to  her  generals.  They  said  to 
themselves,  "  The  idea  is  insane — it  is  blunder  No.  i  ;  it  is 
what  might  have  been  expected  of  this  child  who  is  ignorant  of 
war."  They  privately  sent  the  word  to  the  Bastard  of  Orleans. 
He  also  recognized  the  insanity  of  it — at  least  he  thought  he 


did — and  privately  advised  the  generals  to  get  around  the 
order  in  some  way. 

They  did  it  by  deceiving  Joan.  She  trusted  those  people, 
she  was  not  expecting  this  sort  of  treatment,  and  was  not  on 
the  lookout  for  it.  It  was  a  lesson  to  her;  she  saw  to  it  that 
the  game  was  not  played  a  second  time. 

Why  was  Joan's  idea  insane,  from  the  generals'  point  of 
view,  but  not  from  hers  ?  Because  her  plan  was  to  raise  the 
siege  immediately,  by  fighting,  while  theirs  was  to  besiege 
the  besiegers  and  starve  them  out  by  closing  their  communi 
cations — a  plan  which  would  require  months  in  the  consum 
mation. 

The  English  had  built  a  fence  of  strong  fortresses  called 
bastilles  around  Orleans — fortresses  which  closed  all  the  gates 
of  the  city  but  one.  To  the  French  generals  the  idea  of  try 
ing  to  fight  their  way  past  those  fortresses  and  lead  the  army 
into  Orleans  was  preposterous ;  they  believed  that  the  result 
would  be  the  army's  destruction.  One  may  not  doubt  that 
their  opinion  was  militarily  sound — no,  would  have  been,  but 
for  one  circumstance  which  they  overlooked.  That  was  this  : 
the  English  soldiers  were  in  a  demoralized  condition  of  super 
stitious  terror ;  they  had  become  satisfied  that  the  Maid  was 
in  league  with  Satan.  By  reason  of  this  a  good  deal  of  their 
courage  had  oozed  out  and  vanished.  On  the  other  hand  the 
Maid's  soldiers  were  full  of  courage,  enthusiasm,  and  zeal. 

Joan  could  have  marched  by  the  English  forts.  However, 
it  was  not  to  be.  She  had  been  cheated  out  of  her  first  chance 
to  strike  a  heavy  blow  for  her  country. 

In  camp  that  night  she  slept  in  her  armor  on  the  ground. 
It  was  a  cold  night,  and  she  was  nearly  as  stiff  as  her  armor 
itself  when  we  resumed  the  march  in  the  morning,  for  iron  is 
not  good  material  for  a  blanket.  However,  her  joy  in  being 
now  so  far  on  her  way  to  the  theatre  of  her  mission  was  fire 
enough  to  warm  her,  and  it  soon  did  it. 

Her  enthusiasm  and  impatience  rose  higher  and  higher 
with  every  mile  of  progress  ;  but  at  last  we  reached  Olivet,  and 
down  it  went,  and  indignation  took  its  place.  For  she  saw  the 


152 


trick  that  bad  been  played  upon  her — the  river  lay  between 
us  and  Orleans. 

She  was  for  attacking  one  of  the  three  bastilles  that  were 
on  our  side  of  the  river  and  forcing  access  to  the  bridge 
which  it  guarded  (a  project  which,  if  successful,  would  raise 
the  siege  instantly),  but  the  long-ingrained  fear  of  the  English 
came  upon  her  generals  and  they  implored  her  not  to  make 
the  attempt.  The  soldiers  wanted  to  attack,  but  had  to  suffer 
disappointment.  So  we  moved  on  and  came  to  a  halt  at  a 
point  opposite  Checy,  six  miles  above  Orleans. 

Dunois,  Bastard  of  Orleans,  with  a  body  of  knights  and  citi 
zens,  came  up  from  the  city  to  welcome  Joan.  Joan  was  still 
burning  with  resentment  over  the  trick  that  had  been  put  upon 
her,  and  was  not  in  the  mood  for  soft  speeches,  even  to  re 
vered  military  idols  of  her  childhood.  She  said — 

"Are  you  the  Bastard  of  Orleans  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  he,  and  am  right  glad  of  your  coming." 

"And  did  you  advise  that  I  be  brought  by  this  side  of  the 
river  instead  of  straight  to  Talbot  and  the  English  ?" 

Her  high  manner  abashed  him  and  he  was  not  able  to  an 
swer  with  anything  like  a  confident  promptness,  but  with 
many  hesitations  and  partial  excuses  he  managed  to  get  out 
the  confession  that  for  what  he  and  the  council  had  regarded 
as  imperative  military  reasons  they  had  so  advised. 

"  In  God's  name,"  said  Joan,  "  my  Lord's  counsel  is  safer 
and  wiser  than  yours.  You  thought  to  deceive  me,  but  you 
have  deceived  yourselves,  for  I  bring  you  the  best  help  that 
ever  knight  or  city  had;  for  it  is  God's  help,  not  sent  for  love 
of  me,  but  by  God's  pleasure.  At  the  prayer  of  St.  Louis  and 
St.  Charlemagne  He  has  had  pity  on  Orleans,  and  will  not 
suffer  the  enemy  to  have  both  the  Duke  of  Orleans  and  his 
city.  The  provisions  to  save  the  starving  people  are  here, 
the  boats  are  below  the  city,  the  wind  is  contrary,  they  can 
not  come  up  hither.  Now  then  tell  me,  in  God's  name,  you 
who  are  so  wise,  what  that  council  of  yours  was  thinking 
about,  to  invent  this  foolish  difficulty." 

Dunois  and  the  rest   fumbled  around   the  matter  a   mo- 


153 


ment,  then  gave  in  and  conceded  that  a  blunder  had  been 
made. 

"  Yes,  a  blunder  has  been  made,"  said  Joan,  "  and  except 
God  take  your  proper  work  upon  Himself  and  change  the  wind 
and  correct  your  blunder  for  you,  there  is  none  else  that  can 
devise  a  remedy." 

Some  of  those  people  began  to  perceive  that  with  all  her 
technical  ignorance  she  had  practical  good  sense,  and  that 
with  all  her  native  sweetness  and  charm  she  was  not  the  right 
kind  of  a  person  to  play  with. 

Presently  God  did  take  the  blunder  in  hand,  and  by  His 
grace  the  wind  did  change.  So  the  fleet  of  boats  came  up 
and  went  away  loaded  with  provisions  and  cattle,  and  con 
veyed  that  welcome  succor  to  the  hungry  city,  managing  the 
matter  successfully  under  protection  of  a  sortie  from  the  walls 
against  the  bastille  of  St.  Loup.  Then  Joan  began  on  the 
Bastard  again  : 

"  You  see  here  tlie  army  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  It  is  here  on  this  side  by  advice  of  your  council  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Now,  in  God's  name,  can  that  wise  council  explain  why  it 
is  better  to  have  it  here  than  it  would  be  to  have  it  in  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  ?" 

Dunois  made  some  wandering  attempts  to  explain  the  in 
explicable  and  excuse  the  inexcusable,  but  Joan  cut  him  short 
and  said — 

"  Answer  me  this,  good  sir — has  the  army  any  value  on  this 
side  of  the  river  ?" 

The  Bastard  confessed  that  it  hadn't — that  is,  in  view  of 
the  plan  of  campaign  which  she  had  devised  and  decreed. 

"  And  yet,  knowing  this,  you  had  the  hardihood  to  disobey 
my  orders.  Since  the  army's  place  is  on  the  other  side,  will 
you  explain  to  me  how  it  is  to  get  there  ?" 

The  whole  size  of  the  needless  muddle  was  apparent.  Eva 
sions  were  of  no  use ;  therefore  Dunois  admitted  that  there 
was  no  way  to  correct  the  blunder  but  to  send  the  army  all 


154 

the  way  back  to  Blois,  and  let  it  begin  over  again  and  come 
up  on  the  other  side  this  time,  according  to  Joan's  original 
plan. 

Any  other  girl,  after  winning  such  a  triumph  as  this  over  a 
veteran  soldier  of  old  renown,  might  have  exulted  a  little  and 
been  excusable  for  it,  but  Joan  showed  no  disposition  of  this 
sort.  She  dropped  a  word  or  two  of  grief  over  the  precious 
time  that  must  be  lost,  then  began  at  once  to  issue  commands 
for  the  march  back.  She  sorrowed  to  see  her  army  go ;  for 
she  said  its  heart  was  great  and  its  enthusiasm  high,  and  that 
with  it  at  her  back  she  did  not  fear  to  face  all  the  might  of 
England. 

All  arrangements  having  been  completed  for  the  return  of 
the  main  body  of  the  army,  she  took  the  Bastard  and  La  Hire 
and  a  thousand  men  and  went  down  to  Orleans,  where  all  the 
town  was  in  a  fever  of  impatience  to  have  sight  of  her  face. 
It  was  eight  in  the  evening  when  she  and  the  troops  rode  in 
at  the  Burgundy  gate,  with  the  Paladin  preceding  her  with  her 
standard.  She  was  riding  a  white  horse,  and  she  carried  in 
her  hand  the  sacred  sword  of  Fierbois.  You  should  have 
seen  Orleans  then.  What  a  picture  it  was  !  Such  black  seas 
of  people,  such  a  starry  firmament  of  torches,  such  roaring 
whirlwinds  of  welcome,  such  booming  of  bells  and  thundering 
of  cannon  !  It  was  as  if  the  world  was  come  to  an  end. 
Everywhere  in  the  glare  of  the  torches  one  saw  rank  upon 
rank  of  upturned  white  faces,  the  mouths  wide  open,  shout 
ing,  and  the  unchecked  tears  running  down ;  Joan  forged  her 
slow  way  through  the  solid  masses,  her  mailed  form  project 
ing  above  the  pavement  of  heads  like  a  silver  statue.  The 
people  about  her  struggled  along,  gazing  up  at  her  through 
their  tears  with  the  rapt  look  of  men  and  women  who  believe 
they  are  seeing  one  who  is  divine ;  and  always  her  feet  were 
being  kissed  by  grateful  folk,  and  such  as  failed  of  that  privi 
lege  touched  her  horse  and  then  kissed  their  fingers. 

Nothing  that  Joan  did  escaped  notice ;  everything  she  did 
was  commented  upon  and  applauded.  You  could  hear  the 
remarks  going  all  the  time. 


155 


"  There — she's  smiling — see  !" 

"  Now  she's  taking  her  little  plumed  cap  off  to  somebody — 
ah,  it's  fine  and  graceful !" 

"  She's  patting  that  woman  on  the  head  with  her  gauntlet." 

"  Oh,  she  was  born  on  a  horse — see  her  turn  in  her  saddle, 
and  kiss  the  hilt  of  her  sword  to  the  ladies  in  the  window 
that  threw  the  flowers  down." 

"  Now  there's  a  poor  woman  lifting  up  a  child — she's  kissed 
it — oh,  she's  divine  !" 

"  What  a  dainty  little  figure  it  is,  and  what  a  lovely  face — 
and  such  color  and  animation !" 

Joan's  slender  long  banner  streaming  backward  had  an  ac 
cident — the  fringe  caught  fire  from  a  torch.  She  leaned  for 
ward  and  crushed  the  flame  in  her  hand. 

"  She's  not  afraid  of  fire  nor  anything !"  they  shouted,  and 
delivered  a  storm  of  admiring  applause  that  made  everything 
quake. 

She  rode  to  the  cathedral  and  gave  thanks  to  God,  and  the 
people  crammed  the  place  and  added  their  devotions  to  hers ; 
then  she  took  up  her  march  again  and  picked  her  slow  way 
through  the  crowds  and  the  wilderness  of  torches  to  the 
house  of  Jacques  Boucher,  treasurer  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
where  she  was  to  be  the  guest  of  his  wife  as  long  as  she  stayed 
in  the  city,  and  have  his  young  daughter  for  comrade  and 
room-mate.  The  delirium  of  the  people  went  on  the  rest  of 
the  night,  and  with  it  the  clamor  of  the  joy-bells  and  the  wel 
coming  cannon. 

Joan  of  Arc  had  stepped  upon  her  stage  at  last,  and  was 
ready  to  begin. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

SHE  was  ready,  but  must  sit  down  and  wait  until  there  was 
an  army  to  work  with. 

Next  morning,  Saturday,  April  30,  1429,  she  set  about  in 
quiring  after  the  messenger  who  carried  her  proclamation 
to  the  English  from  Blois — the  one  which  she  had  dic 
tated  at  Poitiers.  Here  is  a  copy  of  it.  It  is  a  remarkable 
document,  for  several  reasons  :  for  its  matter-of-fact  direct 
ness,  for  its  high  spirit  and  forcible  diction,  and  for  its  naive 
confidence  in  her  ability  to  achieve  the  prodigious  task  which 
she  had  laid  upon  herself,  or  which  had  been  laid  upon  her— - 
which  you  please.  All  through  it  you  seem  to  see  the  pomps 
of  war  and  hear  the  rumbling  of  the  drums.  In  it  Joan's 
warrior  soul  is  revealed,  and  for  the  "moment  the  soft  little 
shepherdess  has  disappeared  from  your  view.  This  untaught 
country  damsel,  unused  to  dictating  anything  at  all  to  any 
body,  much  less  documents  of  state  to  kings  and  generals, 
poured  out  this  procession  of  vigorous  sentences  as  fluently 
as  if  this  sort  of  work  had  been  her  trade  from  childhood  : 

"JESUS   MARIA 

"  King  of  England,  and  you  Duke  of  Bedford  who  call  yourself  Regent 
of  France  ;  William  de  la  Pole,  Earl  of  Suffolk  ;  and  you  Thomas  Lord 
Scales,  who  style  yourselves  lieutenants  of  the  said  Bedford — do  right  to 
the  King  of  Heaven.  Render  to  the  Maid  who  is  sent  by  God  the  keys 
of  all  the  good  towns  you  have  taken  and  violated  in  France.  She  is  sent 
hither  by  God  to  restore  the  blood  royal.  She  is  very  ready  to  make 
peace  if  you  will  do  her  right  by  giving  up  France  and  paying  for  what 
you  have  held.  And  you  archers,  companions  of  war,  noble  and  other 
wise,  who  are  before  the  the  good  city  of  Orleans,  begone  into  your  own 
land  in  God's  name,  or  expect  news  from  the  Maid  who  will  shortly  go  to 


157 


see  you  to  your  very  great  hurt.  King  of  England,  if  you  do  not  so,  I 
am  chief  of  war,  and  wherever  I  shall  find  your  people  in  France  I  will 
drive  them  out,  willing  or  not  willing  ;  and  if  they  do  not  obey  I  will  slay 
them  all,  but  if  they  obey,  I  will  have  them  to  mercy.  I  am  come  hither 
by  God,  the  King  of  Heaven,  body  for  body,  to  put  you  out  of  France, 
in  spite  of  those  who  would  work  treason  and  mischief  against  the  king 
dom.  Think  not  you  shall  ever  hold  the  kingdom  from  the  King  of 
Heaven,  the  Son  of  the  blessed  Mary  ;  King  Charles  shall  hold  it,  for  God 
wills  it  so,  and  has  revealed  it  to  him  by  the  Maid.  If  you  believe  not  the 
news  sent  by  God  through  the  Maid,  wherever  we  shall  meet  you  we  will 
strike  boldly  and  make  such  a  noise  as  has  not  been  in  France  these  thou 
sand  years.  Be  sure  that  God  can  send  more  strength  to  the  Maid  than 
you  can  bring  to  any  assault  against  her  and  her  good  men-at-arms  ;  and 
then  we  shall  see  who  has  the  better  right,  the  King  of  Heaven,  or  you. 
Duke  of  Bedford,  the  Maid  prays  you  not  to  bring  about  your  own  de 
struction.  If  you  do  her  right,  you  may  yet  go  in  her  company  where  the 
French  shall  do  the  finest  deed  that  has  ever  been  done  in  Christendom, 
and  if  you  do  not,  you  shall  be  reminded  shortly  of  your  great  wrongs." 

In  that  closing  sentence  she  invites  them  to  go  on  crusade 
with  her  to  rescue  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

No  answer  had  been  returned  to  this  proclamation,  and  the 
messenger  himself  had  not  come  back.  So  now  she  sent  her 
two  heralds  with  a  new  letter  warning  the  English  to  raise  the 
siege  and  requiring  them  to  restore  that  missing  messenger. 
The  heralds  came  back  without  him.  All  they  brought  was 
notice  from  the  English  to  Joan  that  they  would  presently 
catch  her  and  burn  her  if  she  did  not  clear  out  now  while  she 
had  a  chance,  and  "go  back  to  her  proper  trade  of  minding 
cows." 

She  held  her  peace,  only  saying  it  was  a  pity  that  the  Eng 
lish  would  persist  in  inviting  present  disaster  and  eventual 
destruction  when  she  was  "  doing  all  she  could  to  get  them 
out  of  the  country  with  their  lives  still  in  their  bodies." 

Presently  she  thought  of  an  arrangement  that  might  be 
acceptable,  and  said  to  the  heralds,  "  Go  back  and  say  to 
Lord  Talbot  this,  from  me  :  '  Come  out  of  your  bastilles  with 
your  host,  and  I  will  come  with  mine  ;  if  I  beat  you,  go  in 
peace  out  of  France ;  if  you  beat  me,  burn  me,  according  to 
your  desire.'  " 


158 

I  did  not  hear  this,  but  Dunois  did,  and  spoke  of  it.  The 
challenge  was  refused. 

Sunday  morning  her  Voices  or  some  instinct  gave  her  a 
warning,  and  she  sent  Dunois  to  Blois  to  take  command  of 
the  army  and  hurry  it  to  Orleans.  It  was  a  wise  move,  for  he 
found  Regnault  de  Chartres  and  some  more  of  the  King's  pet 
rascals  there  trying  their  best  to  disperse  the  army,  and  crip 
pling  all  the  efforts  of  Joan's  generals  to  head  it  for  Orleans. 
They  were  a  fine  lot,  those  miscreants.  They  turned  their 
attention  to  Dunois,  now,  but  he  had  balked  Joan  once,  with 
unpleasant  results  to  himself,  and  was  not  minded  to  meddle 
in  that  way  again.  He  soon  had  the  army  moving. 


CHAPTER   XV 

WE  of  the  personal  staff  were  in  fairy-land,  now,  during  the 
few  days  that  we  waited  for  the  return  of  the  army.  We  went 
into  society.  To  our  two  knights  this  was  not  a  novelty,  but 
to  us  young  villagers  it  was  a  new  and  wonderful  life.  Any 
position  of  any  sort  near  the  person  of  the  Maid  of  Vaucou- 
leurs  conferred  high  distinction  upon  the  holder  and  caused  his 
society  to  be  courted ;  and  so  the  D'Arc  brothers,  and  Noel, 
and  the  Paladin,  humble  peasants  at  home,  were  gentlemen 
here,  personages  of  weight  and  influence.  It  was  fine  to  see 
how  soon  their  country  diffidences  and  awkwardnesses  melted 
away  under  this  pleasant  sun  of  deference  and  disappeared, 
and  how  lightly  and  easily  they  took  to  their  new  atmosphere. 
The  Paladin  was  as  happy  as  it  was  possible  for  any  one  in  this 
earth  to  be.  His  tongue  went  all  the  time,  and  daily  he  got 
new  delight  out  of  hearing  himself  talk.  He  began  to  enlarge 
his  ancestry  and  spread  it  out  all  around,  and  ennoble  it  right 
and  left,  and  it  was  not  long  until  it  consisted  almost  en 
tirely  of  Dukes.  He  worked  up  his  old  battles  and  tricked 
them  out  with  fresh  splendors ;  also  with  new  terrors,  for  he 
added  artillery  now.  We  had  seen  cannon  for  the  first  time 
at  Blois — a  few  pieces — here  there  was  plenty  of  it,  and  now 
and  then  we  had  the  impressive  spectacle  of  a  huge  English 
bastille  hidden  from  sight  in  a  mountain  of  smoke  from  its 
own  guns,  with  lances  of  red  flame  darting  through  it ;  and 
this  grand  picture,  along  with  the  quaking  thunders  pounding 
away  in  the  heart  of  it,  inflamed  the  Paladin's  imagination 
and  enabled  him  to  dress  out  those  ambuscade-skirmishes  of 
ours  with  a  sublimity  which  made  it  impossible  for  any  to 
recognize  them  at  all  except  people  who  had  not  been  there. 


i6o 


You  may  suspect  that  there  was  a  special  inspiration  for 
these  great  efforts  of  the  Paladin's,  and  there  was.  It  was 
the  daughter  of  the  house,  Catherine  Boucher,  who  was  eigh 
teen,  and  gentle  and  lovely  in  her  ways,  and  very  beautiful. 
I  think  she  might  have  been  as  beautiful  as  Joan  herself,  if 
she  had  had  Joan's  eyes.  But  that  could  never  be.  There 
was  never  but  that  one  pair,  there  will  never  be  another. 
Joan's  eyes  were  deep  and  rich  and  wonderful  beyond  anything 
merely  earthly.  They  spoke  all  the  languages — they  had  no 
need  of  words.  They  produced  all  effects — and  just  by  a 
glance,  just  a  single  glance :  a  glance  that  could  convict  a  liar 
of  his  lie  and  make  him  confess  it ;  that  could  bring  down  a 
proud  man's  pride  and  make  him  humble  ;  that  could  put 
courage  into  a  coward  and  strike  dead  the  courage  of  the 
bravest ;  that  could  appease  resentments  and  real  hatreds ; 
that  could  speak  peace  to  storms  of  passion  and  be  obeyed ; 
that  could  make  the  doubter  believe  and  the  hopeless  hope 
again  ;  that  could  purify  the  impure  mind  ;  that  could  per 
suade — ah,  there  it  \s— persuasion  !  that  is  the  word  ;  what  or 
who  is  it  that  it  couldn't  persuade  ?  The  maniac  of  Dom- 
remy — the  fairy-banishing  priest — the  reverend  tribunal  of 
Toul — the  doubting  and  superstitious  Laxart — the  obstinate 
veteran  of  Vaucouleurs — the  characterless  heir  of  France — 
the  sages  and  scholars  of  the  Parliament  and  University  of 
Poitiers — the  darling  of  Satan,  La  Hire — the  masterless  Bas 
tard  of  Orleans,  accustomed  to  acknowledge  no  way  as  right 
and  rational  but  his  own — these  were  the  trophies  of  that 
great  gift  that  made  her  the  wonder  and  mystery  that  she 
was. 

We  mingled  companionably  with  the  great  folk  who  flocked 
to  the  big  house  to  make  Joan's  acquaintance,  and  they  made 
much  of  us  and  we  lived  in  the  clouds,  so  to  speak.  But  what 
we  preferred  even  to  this  happiness  was  the  quieter  occasions, 
when  the  formal  guests  were  gone  and  the  family  and  a  few 
dozen  of  its  familiar  friends  were  gathered  together  for  a  so 
cial  good  time.  It  was  then  that  we  did  our  best,  we  five 
youngsters,  with  such  fascinations  as  we  had,  and  the  chief 


JOAN    ANU    LA  HIRE 


object  of  them  was  Catherine.  None  of  us  had  ever  been  in 
love  before,  and  now  we  had  the  misfortune  to  all  fall  in  love 
with  the  same  person  at  the  same  time — which  was  the  first 
moment  we  saw  her.  She  was  a  merry  heart,  and  full  of  life, 
and  I  still  remember  tenderly  those  few  evenings  that  I  was 
permitted  to  have  my  share  of  her  dear  society  and  of  com 
radeship  with  that  little  company  of  charming  people. 

The  Paladin  made  us  all  jealous  the  first  night,  for  when 
he  got  fairly  started  on  those  battles  of  his  he  had  everything 
to  himself,  and  there  was  no  use  in  anybody  else's  trying  to 
get  any  attention.  Those  people  had  been  living  in  the 
midst  of  real  war  for  seven  months ;  and  to  hear  this  windy 
giant  lay  out  his  imaginary  campaigns  and  fairly  swim  in 
blood  and  spatter  it  all  around,  entertained  them  to  the  verge 
of  the  grave.  Catherine  was  like  to  die,  for  pure  enjoyment. 
She  didn't  laugh  loud — we,  of  course,  wished  she  would — 
but  kept  in  the  shelter  of  a  fan,  and  shook  until  there  was 
danger  that  she  would  unhitch  her  ribs  from  her  spine. 
Then  when  the  Paladin  had  got  done  with  a  battle  and  we 
began  to  feel  thankful  and  hope  for  a  change,  she  would 
speak  up  in  a  way  that  was  so  sweet  and  persuasive  that  it 
rankled  in  me,  and  ask  him  about  some  detail  or  other  in  the 
early  part  of  his  battle  which  she  said  had  greatly  interested 
her,  and  would  he  be  so  good  as  to  describe  that  part  again 
and  with  a  little  more  particularity  ? — which  of  course  precip 
itated  the  whole  battle  on  us  again,  with  a  hundred  lies  added 
that  had  been  overlooked  before. 

I  do  not  know  how  to  make  you  realize  the  pain  I  suffered. 
I  had  never  been  jealous  before,  and  it  seemed  intolerable 
that  this  creature  should  have  this  good  fortune  which  he  was 
so  ill  entitled  to,  and  I  have  to  sit  and  see  myself  neglected 
when  I  was  so  longing  for  the  least  little  attention  out  of 
the  thousand  that  this  beloved  girl  was  lavishing  upon  him. 
I  was  near  her,  and  tried  two  or  three  times  to  get  started  on 
some  of  the  things  that  /had  done  in  those  battles — and  I 
felt  ashamed  of  myself,  too,  for  stooping  to  such  a  business — 
but  she  cared  for  nothing  but  his  battles,  and  could  not  be 


1 62 


got  to  listen ;  and  presently  when  one  of  my  attempts  caused 
her  to  lose  some  precious  rag  or  other  of  his  mendacities  and 
she  asked  him  to  repeat,  thus  bringing  on  a  new  engagement 
of  course  and  increasing  the  havoc  and  carnage  tenfold,  I 
felt  so  humiliated  by  this  pitiful  miscarriage  of  mine  that  I 
gave  up  and  tried  no  more. 

The  others  were  as  outraged  by  the  Paladin's  selfish  con 
duct  as  I  was — and  by  his  grand  luck,  too,  of  course — per 
haps,  indeed,  that  was  the  main  hurt.  We  talked  our  trouble 
over  together,  which  was  but  natural,  for  rivals  become  broth 
ers  when  a  common  affliction  assails  them  and  a  common 
enemy  bears  off  the  victory. 

Each  of  us  could  do  things  that  would  please  and  get  no 
tice  if  it  were  not  for  this  person,  who  occupied  all  the  time 
and  gave  others  no  chance.  I  had  made  a  poem,  taking  a 
whole  night  to  it — a  poem  in  which  I  most  happily  and  deli 
cately  celebrated  that  sweet  girl's  charms,  without  mention 
ing  her  name,  but  any  one  could  see  who  was  meant ;  for  the 
bare  title — "  The  Rose  of  Orleans  "  would  reveal  that,  as  it 
seemed  to  me.  It  pictured  this  pure  and  dainty  white  rose 
as  growing  up  out  of  the  rude  soil  of  war  and  looking  abroad 
out  of  its  tender  eyes  upon  the  horrid  machinery  of  death, 
and  then — note  this  conceit— it  blushes  for  the  sinful  nature 
of  man,  and  turns  red  in  a  single  night.  Becomes  a  red  rose, 
you  see— a  rose  that  was  white  before.  The  idea  was  my 
own,  and  quite  new.  Then  it  sent  its  sweet  perfume  out  over 
the  embattled  city,  and  when  the  beleaguring  forces  smelt  it 
they  laid  down  their  arms  and  wept.  This  was  also  my  own 
idea,  and  new.  That  closed  that  part  of  the  poem  ;  then  I 
put  her  into  the  similitude  of  the  firmament — not  the  whole 
of  it,  but  only  part.  That  is  to  say,  she  was  the  moon,  and 
all  the  constellations  were  following  her  about,  their  hearts  in 
flames  for  love  of  her,  but  she  would  not  halt,  she  would  not 
listen,  for  'twas  thought  she  loved  another.  'Twas  thought 
she  loved  a  poor  unworthy  suppliant  who  was  upon  the  earth, 
facing  danger,  death,  and  possible  multilation  in  the  bloody 
field,  waging  relentless  war  against  a  heartless  foe  to  save 


163 

her  from  an  all  too  early  grave,  and  her  city  from  destruction. 
And  when  the  sad  pursuing  constellations  came  to  know  and 
realize  the  bitter  sorrow  that  was  come  upon  them — note  this 
idea— their  hearts  broke  and  their  tears  gushed  forth,  filling 
the  vault  of  heaven  with  a  fiery  splendor,  for  those  tears  were 
falling  stars.  It  was  a  rash  idea,  but  beautiful ;  beautiful  and 
pathetic;  wonderfully  pathetic,  the  way  I  had  it,  with  the 
rhyme  and  all  to  help.  At  the  end  of  each  verse  there  was 
a  two-line  refrain  pitying  the  poor  earthly  lover  separated  so 
far,  and  perhaps  forever,  from  her  he  loved  so  well,  and  grow 
ing  always  paler  and  weaker  and  thinner  in  his  agony  as  he 
neared  the  cruel  grave — the  most  touching  thing — even  the 
boys  themselves  could  hardly  keep  back  their  tears,  the  way 
Noel  said  those  lines.  There  were  eight  four-line  stanzas 
in  the  first  end  of  the  poem — the  end  about  the  rose,  the 
horticultural  end,  as  you  may  say,  if  that  is  not  too  large  a 
name  for  such  a  little  poem — and  eight  in  the  astronomical 
end — sixteen  stanzas  altogether,  and  I  could  have  made  it  a 
hundred  and  fifty  if  I  had  wanted  to,  I  was  so  inspired  and  so 
all  swelted  up  with  beautiful  thoughts  and  fancies  ;  but  that 
would  have  been  too  many  to  sing  or  recite  before  a  com 
pany,  that  way,  whereas  sixteen  was  just  right,  and  could  be 
done  over  again,  if  desired. 

The  boys  were  amazed  that  I  could  make  such  a  poem  as 
that  out  of  my  own  head,  and  so  was  I,  of  course,  it  being  as 
much  a  surprise  to  me  as  it  could  be  to  anybody,  for  I  did 
not  know  that  it  was  in  me.  If  any  had  asked  me  a  single 
day  before  if  it  was  in  me,  I  should  have  told  them  frankly 
no,  it  was  not. 

That  is  the  way  with  us ;  we  may  go  on  half  of  our  life  not 
knowing  such  a  thing  is  in  us,  when  in  reality  it  was  there  all 
the  time,  and  all  we  needed  was  something  to  turn  up  that 
would  call  for  it.  Indeed,  it  was  always  so  with  our  family. 
My  grandfather  had  a  cancer,  and  they  never  knew  what  was 
the  matter  with  him  till  he  died,  and  he  didn't  himself.  It  is 
wonderful  how  gifts  and  diseases  can  be  concealed  that  way. 
All  that  was  necessary  in  my  case  was  for  this  lovely  and  in- 


164 


spiring  girl  to  cross  my  path,  and  out  came  the  poem,  and  no 
more  trouble  to  me  lo  word  it  and  rhyme  it  and  perfect  it 
than  it  is  to  stone  a  dog.  No,  I  should  have  said  it  was  not 
in  me  ;  but  it  was. 

The  boys  couldn't  say  enough  about  it,  they  were  so 
charmed  and  astonished.  The  thing  that  pleased  them  the 
most  was  the  way  it  would  do  the  Paladin's  business  for  him. 
They  forgot  everything  in  their  anxiety  to  get  him  shelved 
and  silenced.  Noel  Rainguesson  was  clear  beside  himself 
with  admiration  of  the  poem,  and  wished  he  could  do  such  a 
thing,  but  it  was  out  of  his  line  and  he  couldn't,  of  course. 
He  had  it  by  heart  in  half  an  hour,  and  there  was  never  any 
thing  so  pathetic  and  beautiful  as  the  way  he  recited  it.  For 
that  was  just  his  gift — that  and  mimicry.  He  could  re-cite 
anything  better  than  anybody  in  the  world,  and  he  could  take 
off  La  Hire  to  the  very  life — or  anybody  else,  for  that  matter. 
Now  I  never  could  recite  worth  a  farthing ;  and  when  I  tried 
with  this  poem  the  boys  wouldn't  let  me  finish ;  they  would 
have  nobody  but  Noel.  So  then,  as  I  wanted  the  poem  to 
make  the  best  possible  impression  on  Catherine  and  the  com 
pany,  I  told  Noel  he  might  do  the  reciting.  Never  was  any 
body  so  delighted.  He  could  hardly  believe  that  I  was  in 
earnest,  but  I  was.  I  said  that  to  have  them  know  that  I  was 
the  author  of  if  would  be  enough  for  me.  The  boys  were  full 
of  exultation,  and  Noel  said  if  he  could  just  get  one  chance 
at  those  people  it  would  be  all  he  would  ask ;  he  would  make 
them  realize  that  there  was  something  higher  and  finer  than 
war-lies  to  be  had  here. 

But  how  to  get  the  opportunity — that  was  the  difficulty. 
We  invented  several  schemes  that  promised  fairly,  and  at  last 
we  hit  upon  one  that  was  sure.  That  was,  to  let  the  Paladin 
get  a  good  start  in  a  manufactured  battle,  and  then  send  in  a 
false  call  for  him,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  the  room,  have 
Noel  take  his  place  and  finish  the  battle  himself  in  the  Pala 
din's  own  style,  imitated  to  a  shade.  That  would  get  great 
applause,  and  win  the  house's  favor  and  put  it  in  the  right 
mood  to  hear  the  poem.  The  two  triumphs  together  would 


finish  the  Standard- Bearer — modify  him,  anyway,  to  a  cer 
tainty,  and  give  the  rest  of  us  a  chance  for  the  future. 

So  the  next  night  I  kept  out  of  the  way  until  the  Paladin 
had  got  his  start  and  was  sweeping  down  upon  the  enemy  like 
a  whirlwind  at  the  head  of  his  corps,  then  I  stepped  within 
the  door  in  my  official  uniform  and  announced  that  a  messen 
ger  from  General  La  Hire's  quarters  desired  speech  with  the 
Standard-Bearer.  He  left  the  room,  and  Noel  took  his  place 
and  said  that  the  interruption  was  to  be  deplored,  but  that 
fortunately  he  was  personally  acquainted  with  the  details  of 
the  battle  himself,  and  if  permitted  would  be  glad  to  state 
them  to  the  company.  Then  without  waiting  for  the  permis 
sion  he  turned  himself  into  the  Paladin — a  dwarfed  Paladin, 
of  course — with  manner,  tones,  gestures,  attitudes,  everything 
exact,  and  went  right  on  with  the  battle,  and  it  would  be  im 
possible  to  imagine  a  more  perfectly  and  minutely  ridiculous 
imitation  than  he  furnished  to  those  shrieking  people.  They 
went  into  spasms,  convulsions,  frenzies  of  laughter,  and  the 
tears  flowed  down  their  cheeks  in  rivulets.  The  more  they 
laughed,  the  more  inspired  Noel  grew  with  his  theme  and  the 
greater  the  marvels  he  worked,  till  really  the  laughter  was  not 
properly  laughing  any  more,  but  screaming.  Blessedest  feat 
ure  of  all,  Catherine  Boucher  was  dying  with  ecstasies,  and 
presently  there  was  little  left  of  her  but  gasps  and  suffoca 
tions.  Victory?  It  was  a  perfect  Agincourt. 

The  Paladin  was  gone  only  a  couple  of  minutes  ;  he  found 
out  at  once  that  a  trick  had  been  played  on  him,  so  he  came 
back.  When  he  approached  the  door  he  heard  Noel  ranting 
in  there  and  recognized  the  state  of  the  case  ;  so  he  remained 
near  the  door  but  out  of  sight,  and  heard  the  performance 
through  to  the  end.  The  applause  Noel  got  when  he  finished 
was  wonderful ;  and  they  kept  it  up  and  kept  it  up,  clapping 
their  hands  like  mad,  and  shouting  to  him  to  do  it  over  again. 

But  Noel  was  clever.  He  knew  the  very  best  background 
for  a  poem  of  deep  and  refined  sentiment  and  pathetic  mel 
ancholy  was  one  where  great  and  satisfying  merriment  has 
prepared  the  spirit  for  the  powerful  contrast. 


1 66 


So  he  paused  until  all  was  quiet,  then  his  face  grew  grave 
and  assumed  an  impressive  aspect,  and  at  once  all  faces  so 
bered  in  sympathy  and  took  on  a  look  of  wondering  and  ex 
pectant  interest.  Now  he  began  in  a  low  but  distinct  voice  the 
opening  verses  of  The  Rose.  As  he  breathed  the  rhythmic 
measures  forth,  and  one  gracious  line  after  another  fell  upon 
those  enchanted  ears  in  that  deep  hush,  one  could  catch,  on 
every  hand,  half-audible  ejaculations  of  "  How  lovely — how 
beautiful — how  exquisite." 

By  this  time  the  Paladin,  who  had  gone  away  for  a  moment 
with  the  opening  of  the  poem,  was  back  again,  and  had  stepped 
within  the  door.  He  stood  there,  now,  resting  his  great  frame 
against  the  wall  and  gazing  toward  the  reciter  like  one  en 
tranced.  When  Noel  got  to  the  second  part,  and  that  heart 
breaking  refrain  began  to  melt  and  move  all  listeners,  the  Pal 
adin  began  to  wipe  away  tears  with  the  back  of  first  one  hand 
and  then  the  other.  The  next  time  the  refrain  was  repeated 
he  got  to  snuffling,  and  sort  of  half  sobbing,  and  went  to  wip 
ing  his  eyes  with  the  sleeves  of  his  doublet.  He  was  so  con 
spicuous  that  he  embarrassed  Noel  a  little,  and  also  had  an 
ill  effect  upon  the  audience.  With  the  next  repetition  he 
broke  quite  down  and  began  to  cry  like  a  calf,  which  ruined 
all  the  effect  and  started  many  in  the  audience  to  laughing. 
Then  he  went  on  from  bad  to  worse,  until  I  never  saw  such  a 
spectacle ;  for  he  fetched  out  a  towel  from  under  his  doublet 
and  began  to  swab  his  eyes  with  it  and  let  go  the  most  infer 
nal  bellowings  mixed  up  with  sobbings  and  groanings  and 
retchings  and  barkings  and  coughings  and  snortings  and 
screamings  and  howlings — and  he  twisted  himself  about  on 
his  heels  and  squirmed  this  way  and  that,  still  pouring  out 
that  brutal  clamor  and  flourishing  his  towel  in  the  air  and 
swabbing  again  and  wringing  it  out.  Hear  ?  You  couldn't 
hear  yourself  think.  Noel  was  wholly  drowned  out  and  si 
lenced,  and  those  people  were  laughing  the  very  lungs  out  of 
themselves.  It  was  the  most  degrading  sight  that  ever  was. 
Now  I  heard  the  clankety-clank  that  plate-armor  makes  when 
the  man  that  is  in  it  is  running,  and  then  alongside  my  head 


i67 


there  burst  out  the  most  inhuman  explosion  of  laughter  that 
ever  rent  the  drum  of  a  person's  ear,  and  I  looked,  and  it  was 
La  Hire ;  and  he  stood  there  with  his  gauntlets  on  his  hips 
and  his  head  tilted  back  and  his  jaws  spread  to  that  degree  to 
let  out  his  hurricanes  and  his  thunders  that  it  amounted  to  in 
decent  exposure,  for  you  could  see  everything  that  was  in  him. 
Only  one  thing  more  and  worse  could  happen,  and  it  hap 
pened  :  at  the  other  door  I  saw  the  flurry  and  bustle  and 
bowings  and  scrapings  of  officials  and  flunkeys  which  means 
that  some  great  personage  is  coming  —  then  Joan  of  Arc 
stepped  in,  and  the  house  rose !  Yes,  and  tried  to  shut  its 
indecorous  mouth  and  make  itself  grave  and  proper ;  but 
when  it  saw  the  Maid  herself  go  to  laughing,  it  thanked  God 
for  this  mercy  and  the  earthquake  followed. 

Such  things  make  life  a  bitterness,  and  I  do  not  wish  to 
dwell  upon  them.     The  effect  of  the  poem  was  spoiled. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THIS  episode  disagreed  with  me  and  I  was  not  able  to 
leave  my  bed  the  next  day.  The  others  were  in  the  same 
condition.  But  for  this,  one  or  another  of  us  might  have  had 
the  good  luck  that  fell  to  the  Paladin's  share  that  day;  but  it 
is  observable  that  God  in  His  compassion  sends  the  good  luck 
to  such  as  are  ill  equipped  with  gifts,  as  compensation  for 
their  defect,  but  requires  such  as  are  more  fortunately  en 
dowed  to  get  by  labor  and  talent  what  those  others  get  by 
chance.  It  was  Noel  who  said  this,  and  it  seemed  to  me  to 
be  well  and  justly  thought. 

The  Paladin,  going  about  the  town  all  the  day  in  order  to 
be  followed  and  admired  and  overhear  the  people  say  in  an 
awed  voice,  "  Ssh  ! — look,  it  is  the  Standard-Bearer  of  Joan  of 
Arc !"  had  speech  with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  folk,  and 
he  learned  from  some  boatmen  that  there  was  a  stir  of  some 
kind  going  on  in  the  bastilles  on  the  other  side  of  the  river ; 
and  in  the  evening,  seeking  further,  he  found  a  deserter  from 
the  fortress  called  the  "  Augustins,"  who  said  that  the  English 
were  going  to  send  men  over  to  strengthen  the  garrisons  on 
our  side  during  the  darkness  of  the  night,  and  were  exulting 
greatly,  for  they  meant  to  spring  upon  Dunois  and  the  army 
when  it  was  passing  the  bastilles  and  destroy  it :  a  thing  quite 
easy  to  do,  since  the  "Witch"  would  not  be  there,  and  with 
out  her  presence  the  army  would  do  like  the  French  armies 
of  these  many  years  past — drop  their  weapons  and  run  when 
they  saw  an  English  face. 

It  was  ten  at  night  when  the  Paladin  brought  this  news 
and  asked  leave  to  speak  to  Joan,  and  I  was  up  and  on  duty 
then.  It  was  a  bitter  stroke  to  me  to  see  what  a  chance  I 


i69 


had  lost.  Joan  made  searching  inquiries,  and  satisfied  herself 
that  the  word  was  true,  then  she  made  this  annoying  remark: 

"  You  have  done  well,  and  you  have  my  thanks.  It  may 
be  that  you  have  prevented  a  disaster.  Your  name  and  ser 
vice  shall  receive  official  mention." 

Then  he  bowed  low,  and  when  he  rose  he  was  eleven  feet 
high.  As  he  swelled  out  past  me  he  covertly  pulled  down 
the  corner  of  his  eye  with  his  finger  and  muttered  part  of  that 
defiled  refrain,  "  Oh  tears,  ah  tears,  oh  sad  sweet  tears  ! — name 
in  General  Orders — personal  mention  to  the  King,  you  see  !" 

I  wished  Joan  could  have  seen  his  conduct,  but  she  was  busy 
thinking  what  she  would  do.  Then  she  had  me  fetch  the 
knight  Jean  de  Metz,  and  in  a  minute  he  was  off  for  La  Hire's 
quarters  with  orders  for  him  and  the  Lord  de  Villars  and  Flo- 
rent  d'Iliers  to  report  to  her  at  five  o'clock  next  morning  with 
five  hundred  picked  men  well  mounted.  The  histories  say 
half-past  four,  but  it  is  not  true,  I  heard  the  order  given. 

We  were  on  our  way  at  five  to  the  minute,  and  encountered 
the  head  of  the  arriving  column  between  six  and  seven,  a 
couple  of  leagues  from  the  city.  Dunois  was  pleased,  for  the 
army  had  begun  to  get  restive  and  show  uneasiness  now  that 
it  was  getting  so  near  to  the  dreaded  bastilles.  But  that  all 
disappeared  now,  as  the  word  ran  down  the  line,  with  a  huz- 
zah  that  swept  along  the  length  of  it  like  a  wave,  that  the 
Maid  was  come.  Dunois  asked  her  to  halt  and  let  the  column 
pass  in  review,  so  that  the  men  could  be  sure  that  the  report 
of  her  presence  was  not  a  ruse  to  revive  their  courage.  So 
she  took  position  at  the  side  of  the  road  with  her  staff,  and 
the  battalions  swung  by  with  a  martial  stride,  huzzahing. 
Joan  was  armed,  except  her  head.  She  was  wearing  the  cun 
ning  little  velvet  cap  with  the  mass  of  curved  white  ostrich 
plumes  tumbling  over  its  edges  which  the  city  of  Orleans  had 
given  her  the  night  she  arrived — the  one  that  is  in  the  picture 
that  hangs  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville  at  Rouen.  She  was  looking 
about  fifteen.  The  sight  of  soldiers  always  set  her  blood  to 
leaping,  and  lit  the  fires  in  her  eyes  and  brought  the  warm 
rich  color  to  her  cheeks ;  it  was  then  that  you  saw  that  she 


was  too  beautiful  to  be  of  the  earth,  or  at  any  rate  that  there 
was  a  subtle  something  somewhere  about  her  beauty  that  dif 
fered  it  from  the  human  types  of  your  experience  and  exalted 
it  above  them. 

In  the  train  of  wains  laden  with  supplies  a  man  lay  on  top 
of  the  goods.  He  was  stretched  out  on  his  back,  and  his 
hands  were  tied  together  with  ropes,  and  also  his  ankles. 
Joan  signed  to  the  officer  in  charge  of  that  division  of  the 
train  to  come  to  her,  and  he  rode  up  and  saluted. 

"  What  is  he  that  is  bound,  there  ?"  she  asked. 

"  A  prisoner,  General." 

"  What  is  his  offence  ?" 

"  He  is  a  deserter." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  with  him  ?" 

"  He  will  be  hanged,  but  it  was  not  convenient  on  the 
march,  and  there  was  no  hurry." 

"  Tell  me  about  him." 

"  He  is  a  good  soldier,  but  he  asked  leave  to  go  and  see 
his  wife  who  was  dying,  he  said,  but  it  could  not  be  granted ; 
so  he  went  without  leave.  Meanwhile  the  march  began,  and 
he  only  overtook  us  yesterday  evening." 

"  Overtook  you  ?     Did  he  come  of  his  own  will  ?" 

"Yes,  it  was  of  his  own  will." 

"He  a  deserter  !     Name  of  God  !     Bring  him  to  me." 

The  officer  rode  forward  and  loosed  the  man's  feet  and 
brought  him  back  with  his  hands  still  tied.  W^hat  a  figure  he 
Was — a  good  seven  feet  high,  and  built  for  business  !  He  had 
a  strong  face;  he  had  an  unkempt  shock  of  black  hair  which 
showed  up  in  a  striking  way  when  the  officer  removed  his 
morion  for  him  ;  for  weapon  he  had  a  big  axe  in  his  broad 
leathern  belt.  Standing  by  Joan's  horse,  he  made  Joan  look 
littler  than  ever,  for  his  head  was  about  on  a  level  with  her 
own.  His  face  was  profoundly  melancholy  ;  all  interest  in  life 
seemed  to  be  dead  in  the  man.  Joan  said — 

"  Hold  up  your  hands." 

The  man's  head  was  down.  He  lifted  it  when  he  heard 
that  soft  friendly  voice,  and  there  was  a  wistful  something  in 


his  face  which  made  one  think  that  there  had  been  music  in 
it  for  him  and  that  he  would  like  to  hear  it  again.  When  he 
raised  his  hands  Joan  laid  her  sword  to  his  bonds,  but  the 
officer  said  with  apprehension— 

"Ah,  madam — my  General !" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  said. 

"  He  is  under  sentence  !" 

"  Yes,  I  know.  I  am  responsible  for  him  "  ;  and  she  cut  the 
bonds.  They  had  lacerated  his  wrists,  and  they  were  bleed 
ing.  "  Ah,  pitiful !"  she  said;  "blood— I  do  not  like  it"; 
and  she  shrank  from  the  sight.  But  only  for  a  moment. 
"  Give  me  something,  somebody,  to  bandage  his  wrists  with." 

The  officer  said — 

'•  Ah,  my  General !  it  is  not  fitting.  Let  me  bring  an 
other  to  do  it." 

"  Another  ?  De  par  le  Dieu  !  You  would  seek  far  to  find 
one  that  can  do  it  better  than  I,  for  I  learned  it  long  ago 
among  both  men  and  beasts.  And  I  can  tie  better  than 
those  that  did  this ;  if  I  had  tied  him  the  ropes  had  not  cut 
his  flesh." 

The  man  looked  on,  silent,  while  he  was  being  bandaged, 
stealing  a  furtive  glance  at  Joan's  face  occasionally,  such  as 
an  animal  might  that  is  receiving  a  kindness  from  an  unex 
pected  quarter  and  is  gropingly  trying  to  reconcile  the  act 
with  its  source.  All  the  staff  had  forgotten  the  huzzahing  army 
drifting  by  in  its  rolling  clouds  of  dust,  to  crane  their  necks  and 
watch  the  bandaging  as  if  it  was  the  most  interesting  and 
absorbing  novelty  that  ever  was.  I  have  often  seen  people 
do  like  that — get  entirely  lost  in  the  simplest  trifle,  when  it 
is  something  that  is  out  of  their  line.  Now  there  in  Poitiers, 
once,  I  saw  two  bishops  and  a  dozen  of  those  grave  and 
famous  scholars  grouped  together  watching  a  man  paint  a 
sign  on  a  shop ;  they  didn't  breathe,  they  were  as  good  as 
dead  ;  and  when  it  began  to  sprinkle  they  didn't  know  it  at 
first ;  then  they  noticed  it,  and  each  man  hove  a  deep  sigh, 
and  glanced  up  with  a  surprised  look  as  wondering  to  see  the 
others  there,  and  how  he  came  to  be  there  himself — but  that 


172 


is  the  way  with  people,  as  I  have  said.  There  is  no  way  of 
accounting  for  people.  You  have  to  take  them  as  they  are. 

"  There,"  said  Joan  at  last,  pleased  with  her  success  ;  "  an 
other  could  have  done  it  no  better — not  as  well,  I  think.  Tell 
me — what  is  it  you  did  ?  Tell  me  all." 

The  giant  said : 

"  It  was  this  way,  my  angel.  My  mother  died,  then  my 
three  little  children,  one  after  the  other,  all  in  two  years.  It 
was  the  famine ;  others  fared  so — it  was  God's  will.  I  saw 
them  die  ,  I  had  that  grace  ;  and  I  buried  them.  Then  when 
my  poor  wife's  fate  was  come,  I  begged  for  leave  to  go  to  her 
— she  who  was  so  dear  to  me  —  she  who  was  all  I  had ;  I 
begged  on  my  knees.  But  they  would  not  let  me.  Could  I 
let  her  die,  friendless  and  alone  ?  Could  I  let  her  die  believ 
ing  I  would  not  come  ?  Would  she  let  me  die  and  she  not 
come — with  her  feet  free  to  do  it  if  she  would,  and  no  cost 
upon  it  but  only  her  life  ?  Ah,  she  would  come — she  would 
come  through  the  fire  !  So  I  went.  I  saw  her.  She  died  in 
my  arms.  I  buried  her.  Then  the  army  was  gone.  I  had 
trouble  to  overtake  it,  but  my  legs  are  long  and  there  are 
many  hours  in  a  day  ;  I  overtook  it  last  night." 

Joan  said,  musingly,  and  as  if  she  were  thinking  aloud— 

"  It  sounds  true.  If  true,  it  were  no  great  harm  to  sus 
pend  the  law  this  one  time — any  would  say  that.  It  may  not 
be  true,  but  if  it  is  true—  She  turned  suddenly  to  the  man 
and  said,  "  I  would  see  your  eyes — look  up !"  The  eyes  of 
the  two  met,  and  Joan  said  to  the  officer,  "  The  man  is  par 
doned.  Give  you  good-day;  you  may  go."  Then  she  said  to  the 
man,  "  Did  you  know  it  was  death  to  come  back  to  the  army?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  knew  it." 

"  Then  why  did  you  do  it  ?" 

The  man  said,  quite  simply — 

"Because  it  was  death.  She  was  all  I  had.  There  was 
nothing  left  to  love." 

"Ah,  yes,  there  was  —  France!  The  children  of  France 
have  always  their  mother — they  cannot  be  left  with  nothing  to 
love.  You  shall  live — and  you  shall  serve  France — " 


173 


"I  will  serve  you!" 

«_yOU  shall  fight  for  France—" 

"I  will  fight  f  or  you!" 

"  You  shall  be  France's  soldier — " 

"  I  will  be  your  soldier  !" 

" — you  shall  give  all  your  heart  to  France — 

"  I  will  give  all  my  heart  to  you — and  all  my  soul,  if  I 
have  one — and  all  my  strength,  which  is  great — for  I  was 
dead  and  am  alive  again  ;  I  had  nothing  to  live  for,  but  now  I 
have !  You  are  France  for  me.  You  are  my  France,  and  I 
will  have  no  other." 

Joan  smiled,  and  was  touched  and  pleased  at  the  man's 
grave  enthusiasm — solemn  enthusiasm,  one  may  call  it,  for 
the  manner  of  it  was  deeper  than  mere  gravity — and  she 
said — 

"  Well,  it  shall  be   as  you  will.     What  are   you  called  ?" 

The  man  answered  with  unsmiling  simplicity — 

"  They  call  me  the  Dwarf,  but  I  think  it  is  more  in  jest 
than  otherwise." 

It  made  Joan  laugh,  and  she  said — 

"  It  has  something  of  that  look,  truly !  What  is  the  office 
of  that  vast  axe  ?" 

The  soldier  replied  with  the  same  gravity  —  which  must 
have  been  born  to  him,  it  sat  upon  him  so  naturally — 

"  It  is  to  persuade  persons  to  respect  France." 

Joan  laughed  again,  and  said — 

"  Have  you  given  many  lessons  ?" 

"  Ah,  indeed  yes — many." 

"  The  pupils  behaved  to  suit  you,  afterwards  ?" 

"Yes  ;  it  made  them  quiet — quite  pleasant  and  quiet." 

"  I  should  think  it  would  happen  so.  Would  you  like  to 
be  my  man-at-arms?  —  orderly,  sentinel,  or  something  like 
that  ?" 

"If  I  may!" 

"  Then  you  shall.  You  shall  have  proper  armor,  and  shall 
go  on  teaching  your  art.  Take  one  of  those  led  horses 
there,  and  follow  the  staff  when  we  move." 


174 


That  is  how  we  came  by  the  Dwarf ;  and  a  good  fellow  he 
was.  Joan  picked  him  out  on  sight,  but  it  wasn't  a  mistake  ; 
no  one  could  be  faithfuler  than  he  was,  and  he  was  a  devil 
and  the  son  of  a  devil  when  he  turned  himself  loose  with  his 
axe.  He  was  so  big  that  he  made  the  Paladin  look  like  an 
ordinary  man.  He  liked  to  like  people,  therefore  people 
liked  him.  He  liked  us  boys  from  the  start ;  and  he  liked  the 
knights,  and  liked  pretty  much  everybody  he  came  across  ; 
but  he  thought  more  of  a  paring  of  Joan's  finger-nail  than  he 
did  of  all  the  rest  of  the  world  put  together. 

Yes,  that  is  where  we  got  him — stretched  on  the  wain,  going 
to  his  death,  poor  chap,  and  nobody  to  say  a  good  word  for 
him.  He  was  a  good  find.  Why,  the  knights  treated  him 
almost  like  an  equal — it  is  the  honest  truth ;  that  is  the  sort 
of  a  man  he  was.  They  called  him  the  Bastille,  sometimes, 
and  sometimes  they  called  him  Hellfire,  which  was  on  account 
of  his  warm  and  sumptuous  style  in  battle,  and  you  know 
they  wouldn't  have  given  him  pet  names  if  they  hadn't  had  a 
good  deal  of  affection  for  him. 

To  the  Dwarf,  Joan  was  France,  the  spirit  of  France  made 
flesh — he  never  got  away  from  that  idea  that  he  had  started 
with ;  and  God  knows  it  was  the  true  one.  That  was  a  hum 
ble  eye  to  see  so  great  a  truth  where  some  others  failed.  To 
me  that  seems  quite  remarkable.  And  yet,  after  all,  it  was, 
in  a  way,  just  what  nations  do.  When  they  love  a  great  and 
noble  thing,  they  embody  it — 'they  want  it  so  that  they  can 
see  it  with  their  eyes;  like  Liberty,  for  instance.  They  are 
not  content  with  the  cloudy  abstract  idea,  they  make  a 
beautiful  statue  of  it,  and  then  their  beloved  idea  is  sub 
stantial  and  they  can  look  at  it  and  worship  it.  And  so  it  is 
as  I  say ;  to  the  Dwarf,  Joan  was  our  country  embodied,  our 
country  made  visible  flesh  cast  in  a  gracious  form.  When 
she  stood  before  others,  they  saw  Joan  of  Arc,  but  he  saw 
France. 

Sometimes  he  would  speak  of  her  by  that  name.  It  shows 
you  how  the  idea  was  imbedded  in  his  mind,  and  how  real  it 
was  to  him.  The  world  has  called  our  kings  by  it,  but  I 


JOAN    AND    THE    "DWARF 


175 


know  of  none  of  them  who  has  had  so  good  a  right  as  she  to 
that  sublime  title. 

When  the  march  past  was  finished,  Joan  returned  to  the 
front  and  rode  at  the  head  of  the  column.  When  we  began 
to  file  past  those  grim  bastilles  and  could  glimpse  the  men 
within,  standing  to  their  guns  and  ready  to  empty  death  into 
our  ranks,  such  a  faintness  came  over  me  and  such  a  sickness 
that  all  things  seemed  to  turn  dim  and  swim  before  my  eyes ; 
and  the  other  boys  looked  droopy  too,  I  thought — including 
the  Paladin,  although  I  do  not  know  this  for  certain,  because 
he  was  ahead  of  me  and  I  had  to  keep  my  eyes  out  toward 
the  bastille  side,  because  I  could  wince  better  when  I  saw 
what  to  wince  at. 

But  Joan  was  at  home — in  Paradise,  I  might  say.  She  sat 
up  straight,  and  I  could  see  that  she  was  feeling  different 
from  me.  The  awfulest  thing  was  the  silence  ,  there  wasn't 
a  sound  but  the  screaking  of  the  saddles,  the  measured  tramp- 
lings,  and  the  sneezing  of  the  horses,  afflicted  by  the  smother 
ing  dust-clouds  which  they  kicked  up.  I  wanted  to  sneeze 
myself,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  would  rather  go  unsneezed, 
or  suffer  even  a  bitterer  torture,  if  there  is  one,  than  attract 
attention  to  myself. 

I  was  not  of  a  rank  to  make  suggestions,  or  I  would  have 
suggested  that  if  we  went  faster  we  should  get  by  sooner.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  it  was  an  ill-judged  time  to  be  taking  a 
walk.  Just  as  we  were  drifting  in  that  suffocating  stillness 
past  a  great  cannon  that  stood  just  within  a  raised  portcullis, 
with  nothing  between  me  and  it  but  the  moat,  a  most  uncom 
mon  jackass  in  there  split  the  world  with  his  bray,  and  I  fell 
out  of  the  saddle.  Sir  Bertrand  grabbed  me  as  I  went, 
which  was  well,  for  if  I  had  gone  to  the  ground  in  my  armor 
I  could  not  have  gotten  up  again  by  myself.  The  English 
warders  on  the  battlements  laughed  a  coarse  laugh,  forgetting 
that  every  one  must  begin,  and  that  there  had  been  a  time 
when  they  themselves  would  have  fared  no  better  when  shot 
by  a  jackass. 

The  English  never  uttered  a  challenge  nor  fired  a  shot.     It 


was  said  afterwards  that  when  their  men  saw  the  Maid  riding 
at  the  front  and  saw  how  lovely  she  was,  their  eager  courage 
cooled  clown  in  many  cases  and  vanished  in  the  rest,  they  feel 
ing  certain  that  that  creature  was  not  mortal,  but  the  very 
child  of  Satan ,  and  so  the  officers  were  prudent  and  did  not  try 
to  make  them  fight.  It  was  said  also  that  some  of  the  officers 
were  affected  by  the  same  superstitious  fears.  Well,  in  any 
case,  they  never  offered  to  molest  us,  and  we  poked  by  all  the 
grisly  fortresses  in  peace.  During  the  march  I  caught  up  on 
my  devotions,  which  were  in  arrears  ;  so  it  was  not  all  loss  and 
no  profit  for  me,  after  all. 

It  was  on  this  march  that  the  histories  say  Dunois  told  Joan 
that  the  English  were  expecting  reinforcements  under  the 
command  of  Sir  John  Falstaff,  and  that  she  turned  upon  him 
and  said — 

"  Bastard,  Bastard,  in  God's  name  I  warn  you  to  let  me 
know  of  his  coming  as  soon  as  you  hear  of  it ;  for  if  he  passes 
without  my  knowledge  you  shall  lose  your  head !" 

It  may  be  so  ;  I  don't  deny  it;  but  I  didn't  hear  it.  If  she 
really  said  it  I  think  she  only  meant  she  would  take  off  his 
official  head — degrade  him  from  his  command.  It  was  not  like 
her  to  threaten  a  comrade's  life.  She  did  have  her  doubts  of 
her  generals,  and  was  entitled  to  them,  for  she  was  all  for 
storm  and  assault,  and  they  were  for  holding  still  and  tiring 
the  English  out.  Since  they  did  not  believe  in  her  way  and 
were  experienced  old  soldiers,  it  would  be  natural  for  them 
to  prefer  their  own  and  try  to  get  around  carrying  hers  out. 

But  I  did  hear  something  that  the  histories  didn't  mention 
and  don't  know  about.  I  heard  Joan  say  that  now  that  the 
garrisons  on  the  other  side  had  been  weakened  to  strength 
en  those  on  our  side,  the  most  effective  point  of  operations 
had  shifted  to  the  south  shore;  so  she  meant  to  go  over  there 
and  storm  the  forts  which  held  the  bridge  end,  and  that  would 
open  up  communication  with  our  own  dominions  and  raise 
the  siege.  The  generals  began  to  balk,  privately,  right  away, 
but  they  only  baffled  and  delayed  her,  and  that  for  only  four 
days. 


177 


All  Orleans  met  the  army  at  the  gate  and  huzzahed  it 
through  the  bannered  streets  to  its  various  quarters,  but  no 
body  had  to  rock  it  to  sleep ;  it  slumped  down  dog-tired,  for 
Dunois  had  rushed  it  without  mercy,  and  for  the  next  twenty- 
four  hours  it  would  be  quiet,  all  but  the  snoring. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHEN  we  got  home,  breakfast  for  us  minor  fry  was  waiting 
in  our  mess-room  and  the  family  honored  us  by  coming  in  to 
eat  it  with  us.  The  nice  old  treasurer,  and  in  fact  all  three 
were  flatteringly  eager  to  hear  about  our  adventures.  No 
body  asked  the  Paladin  to  begin,  but  he  did  begin,  because 
now  that  his  specially  ordained  and  peculiar  military  rank  set 
him  above  everybody  on  the  personal  staff  but  old  D'Aulon, 
who  didn't  eat  with  us,  he  didn't  care  a  farthing  for  the 
knights'  nobility  nor  mine,  but  took  precedence  in  the  talk 
whenever  it  suited  him,  which  was  all  the  time,  because  he 
was  born  that  way.  He  said  : 

"  God  be  thanked,  we  found  the  army  in  admirable  condi 
tion.  I  think  I  have  never  seen  a  finer  body  of  animals." 

"Animals?"  said  Miss  Catherine. 

"  I  will  explain  to  you  what  he  means,"  said  Noel.    "  He— 

"  I  will  trouble  you  not  to  trouble  yourself  to  explain  any 
thing  for  me,"  said  the  Paladin,  loftily.  "  I  have  reason  to 
think—" 

"That  is  his  way,"  said  Noel;  "always  when  he  thinks  he 
has  reason  to  think,  he  thinks  he  does  think,  but  this  is  an  er 
ror.  He  didn't  see  the  army.  I  noticed  him,  and  he  didn't 
see  it.  He  was  troubled  by  his  old  complaint." 

"  What  is  his  old  complaint  ?"  Catherine  asked. 

"  Prudence,"  I  said,  seeing  my  chance  to  help. 

But  it  was  not  a  fortunate  remark,  for  the  Paladin  said : 

"  It  probably  isn't  your  turn  to  criticise  people's  prudence 
— you  who  fall  out  of  the  saddle  when  a  donkey  brays." 

They  all  laughed,  and  I  was  ashamed  of  myself  for  my 
hasty  smartness.  I  said  : 


179 

"  It  isn't  quite  fair  for  you  to  say  I  fell  out  on  account  of 
the  donkey's  braying.  It  was  emotion,  just  ordinary  emo 
tion." 

"  Very  well,  if  you  want  to  call  it  that,  I  am  not  objecting. 
What  would  you  call  it,  Sir  Bertrand  ?" 

"Well,  it— well,  whatever  it  was,  it  was  excusable,  I  think. 
All  of  you  have  learned  how  to  behave  in  hot  hand-to-hand 
engagements,  and  you  don't  need  to  be  ashamed  of  your  rec 
ord  in  that  matter ;  but  to  walk  along  in  front  of  death,  with 
one's  hands  idle,  and  no  noise,  no  music,  and  nothing  going 
on,  is  a  very  trying  situation.  If  I  were  you,  De  Conte,  I 
would  name  the  emotion ;  it's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of." 

It  was  as  straight  and  sensible  a  speech  as  ever  I  heard, 
and  I  was  grateful  for  the  opening  it  gave  me ;  so  I  came  out 
and  said  : 

"  It  was  fear — and  thank  you  for  the  honest  idea,  too." 

"  It  was  the  cleanest  and  best  way  out,"  said  the  ojd  treas 
urer;  "you've  done  well,  my  lad." 

That  made  me  comfortable,  and  when  Miss  Catharine  said, 
"  It's  what  I  think,  too,"  I  was  grateful  to  myself  for  getting 
into  that  scrape. 

Sir  Jean  de  Metz  said — 

"  We  were  all  in  a  body  together  when  the  donkey  brayed, 
and  it  was  dismally  still  at  the  time.  I  don't  see  how  any 
young  campaigner  could  escape  some  little  touch  of  that 
emotion." 

He  looked  about  him  with  a  pleasant  expression  of  inquiry 
on  his  good  face,  and  as  each  pair  of  eyes  in  turn  met  his  the 
head  they  were  in  nodded  a  confession.  Even  the  Paladin 
delivered  his  nod.  That  surprised  everybody,  and  saved  the 
Standard-Bearer's  credit.  It  was  clever  of  him  ;  nobody  be 
lieved  he  could  tell  the  truth  that  way  without  practice,  or 
would  tell  that  particular  sort  of  a  truth  either  with  or  with 
out  practice.  I  suppose  he  judged  it  would  favorably  im 
press  the  family.  Then  the  old  treasurer  said — 

"  Passing  the  forts  in  that  trying  way  required  the  same 
sort  of  nerve  that  a  person  must  have  when  ghosts  are  about 


i  So 


him  in  the  dark,  I  should  think.  What  does  the  Standard- 
Bearer  think  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  quite  know  about  that,  sir.  I've  often 
thought  I  would  like  to  see  a  ghost  if  I— 

"Would  you?1'  exclaimed  the  young  lady.  "We've  got 
one  !  Would  you  try  that  one  ?  Will  you  ?" 

She  was  so  eager  and  pretty  that  the  Paladan  said  straight 
out  that  he  would;  and  then  as  none  of  the  rest  had  bravery 
enough  to  expose  the  fear  that  was  in  him,  one  volunteered 
after  the  other  with  a  prompt  mouth  and  a  sick  heart  till  all 
were  shipped  for  the  voyage  ;  then  the  girl  clapped  her  hands 
in  glee,  and  the  parents  were  gratified  too,  saying  that  the 
ghosts  of  their  house  had  been  a  dread  and  a  misery  to  them 
and  their  forebears  for  generations,  and  nobody  had  ever  been 
found  yet  who  was  willing  to  confront  them  and  find  out  what 
their  trouble  was,  so  that  the  family  could  heal  it  and  content 
the  poor  spectres  and  beguile  them  to  tranquillity  and  peace. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

ABOUT  noon  I  was  chatting  with  Madame  Boucher ;  noth 
ing  was  going  on,  all  was  quiet,  when  Catherine  Boucher  sud 
denly  entered  in  great  excitement,  and  said — 

"  Fly,  sir,  fly  !  The  Maid  was  dozing  in  her  chair  in  my 
room,  when  she  sprang  up  and  cried  out,  '  French  blood  is 
flowing ! — my  arms,  give  me  my  arms  !'  Her  giant  was  on 
guard  at  the  door,  and  he  brought  D'Aulon,  who  began  to  arm 
her,  and  I  and  the  giant  have  been  warning  the  staff.  Fly! 
— and  stay  by  her  ;  and  if  there  really  is  a  battle,  keep  her  out 
of  it — don't  let  her  risk  herself — there  is  no  need — if  the  men 
know  she  is  near  and  looking  on,  it  is  all  that  is  necessary. 
Keep  her  out  of  the  fight — don't  fail  of  this  !" 

I  started  on  a  run,  saying,  sarcastically — for  I  was  always 
fond  of  sarcasm,  and  it  was  said  that  I  had  a  most  neat  gift 
that  way — 

"  Oh  yes,  nothing  easier  than  that — I'll  attend  to  it !" 

At  the  furthest  end  of  the  house  I  met  Joan,  fully  armed, 
hurrying  toward  the  door,  and  she  said — 

"  Ah,  French  blood  is  being  spilt,  and  you  did  not  tell  me." 

"  Indeed  I  did  not  know  it,"  I  said  ;  "there  are  no  sounds  of 
war  ;  everything  is  quiet,  your  Excellency." 

"You  will  hear  war-sounds  enough  in  a  moment,"  she  said, 
and  was  gone. 

It  was  true.  Before  one  could  count  five  there  broke  upon 
the  stillness  the  swelling  rush  and  tramp  of  an  approaching 
multitude  of  men  and  horses,  with  hoarse  cries  of  command  ; 
and  then  out  of  the  distance  came  the  muffled  deep  boom! 
— boom-boom  ! — boom  !  of  cannon,  and  straightway  that  rush 
ing  multitude  was  roaring  by  the  house  like  a  hurricane. 


182 


Our  knights  and  all  our  staff  came  flying,  armed,  but  with 
no  horses  ready,  and  we  burst  out  after  Joan  in  a  body,  the 
Paladin  in  the  lead  with  the  banner.  The  surging  crowd  was 
made  up  half  of  citizens  and  half  of  soldiers,  and  had  no  rec 
ognized  leader.  When  Joan  was  seen  a  huzzah  went  up,  and 
she  shouted — 

"  A  horse — a  horse  !" 

A  dozen  saddles  were  at  her  disposal  in  a  moment.  She 
mounted,  a  hundred  people  shouting — 

"Way,  there — way  for  the  MAID  OF  ORLEANS  !"  The  first 
time  that  that  immortal  name  was  ever  uttered — and  I,  praise 
God,  was  there  to  hear  it !  The  mass  divided  itself  like  the 
waters  of  the  Red  Sea,  and  down  this  lane  Joan  went  skim 
ming  like  a  bird,  crying  "Forward,  French  hearts — follow 
me !"  and  we  came  winging  in  her  wake  on  tbe  rest  of  the 
borrowed  horses,  the  holy  standard  streaming  above  us,  and 
the  lane  closing  together  in  our  rear. 

This  was  a  different  thing  from  the  ghastly  inarch  past  the 
dismal  bastilles.  No,  we  felt  fine,  now,  and  all  a-whirl  with 
enthusiasm.  The  explanation  of  this  sudden  uprising  was 
this.  The  city  and  the  little  garrison,  so  long  hopeless  and 
afraid,  had  gone  wild  over  Joan's  coming,  and  could  no  longer 
restrain  their  desire  to  get  at  the  enemy ;  so,  without  orders 
from  anybody,  a  few  hundred  soldiers  and  citizens  had 
plunged  out  at  the  Burgundy  gate  on  a  sudden  impulse  and 
made  a  charge  on  one  of  Lord  Talbot's  most  formidable 
fortresses — St.  Loup — and  were  getting  the  worst  of  it.  The 
news  of  this  had  swept  through  the  city  and  started  this  new 
crowd  that  we  were  with. 

As  we  poured  out  at  the  gate  we  met  a  force  bringing  in 
the  wounded  from  the  front.  The  sight  moved  Joan,  and  she 
said — 

"Ah,  French  blood ;  it  makes  my  hair  rise  to  see  it !" 

We  were  soon  on  the  field,  soon  in  the  midst  of  the  tur 
moil.  Joan  was  seeing  her  first  real  battle,  and  so  were  we. 

It  was  a  battle  in  the  open  field  ;  for  the  garrison  of  St. 
Loup  had  sallied  confidently  out  to  meet  the  attack,  being 


183 


used  to  victories  when  "  witches "  were  not  around.  The 
sally  had  been  re-enforced  by  troops  from  the  "  Paris  "  bastille, 
and  when  we  approached  the  French  were  getting  whipped 
and  were  falling  back.  But  when  Joan  came  charging  through 
the  disorder  with  her  banner  displayed,  crying  "  Forward,  men 
— follow  me  !"  there  was  a  change ;  the  French  turned  about 
and  surged  forward  like  a  solid  wave  of  the  sea,  and  swept  the 
English  before  them,  hacking  and  slashing,  and  being  hacked 
and  slashed,  in  a  way  that  was  terrible  to  see. 

In  the  field  the  Dwarf  had  no  assignment ;  that  is  to  say, 
he  was  not  under  orders  to  occupy  any  particular  place,  there 
fore  he  chose  his  place  for  himself,  and  went  ahead  of  Joan 
and  made  a  road  for  her.  It  was  horrible  to  see  the  iron  hel 
mets  fly  into  fragments  under  his  dreadful  axe.  He  called  it 
cracking  nuts,  and  it  looked  like  that.  He  made  a  good  road, 
and  paved  it  well  with  flesh  and  iron.  Joan  and  the  rest  of 
us  followed  it  so  briskly  that  we  outspeeded  our  forces  and 
had  the  English  behind  us  as  well  as  before.  The  knights 
commanded  us  to  face  outwards  around  Joan,  which  we  did, 
and  then  there  was  work  done  that  was  fine  to  see.  One  was 
obliged  to  respect  the  Paladin,  now.  Being  right  under  Joan's 
exalting  and  transforming  eye,  he  forgot  his  native  prudence, 
he  forgot  his  diffidence  in  the  presence  of  danger,  he  forgot 
what  fear  was,  and  he  never  laid  about  him  in  his  imaginary 
battles  in  a  more  tremendous  way  than  he  did  in  this  real 
one  ;  and  wherever  he  struck  there  was  an  enemy  the  less. 

We  were  in  that  close  place  only  a  few  minutes  ;  then  our 
forces  to  the  rear  broke  through  with  a  great  shout  and  joined 
us,  and  then  the  English  fought  a  retreating  fight,  but  in  a 
fine  and  gallant  way,  and  we  drove  them  to  their  fortress  foot 
by  foot,  they  facing  us  all  the  time,  and  their  reserves  on  the 
walls  raining  showers  of  arrows,  cross-bow  bolts,  and  stone 
cannon-balls  upon  us. 

The  bulk  of  the  enemy  got  safely  within  the  works  and  left 
us  outside  with  piles  of  French  and  English  dead  and  wound 
ed  for  company — a  sickening  sight,  an  awful  sight  to  us  young 
sters,  for  our  little  ambush  fights  in  February  had  been  in  the 


84 


night,  and  the  blood  and  the  mutilations  and  the  dead  faces 
were  mercifully  dim,  whereas  we  saw  these  things  now  for  the 
first  time  in  all  their  naked  ghastliness. 

Now  arrived  Dunois  from  the  city,  and  plunged  through  the 
battle  on  his  foam-flecked  horse  and  galloped  up  to  Joan,  sa 
luting,  and  uttering  handsome  compliments  as  he  came.  He 
waved  his  hand  toward  the  distant  walls  of  the  city,  where  a 
multitude  of  flags  were  flaunting  gayly  in  the  wind,  and  said 
the  populace  were  up  there  observing  her  fortunate  perform 
ance  and  rejoicing  over  it,  and  added  that  she  and  the  forces 
would  have  a  great  reception  now. 

"Now  ?     Hardly  now,  Bastard.     Not  yet !" 

"  Why  not  yet  ?     Is  there  more  to  be  done  ?"' 

"  More,  Bastard  ?  We  have  but  begun  !  \Ve  will  take  this 
fortress." 

"Ah,  you  can't  be  serious!  We  can't  take  this  place,  let 
me  urge  you  not  to  make  the  attempt;  it  is  too  desperate. 
Let  me  order  the  forces  back." 

Joan's  heart  was  overflowing  with  the  joys  and  enthusiasms 
of  war,  and  it  made  her  impatient  to  hear  such  talk.  She 
cried  out — 

"Bastard,  Bastard,  will  ye  play  always  with  these  English? 
Now  verily  I  tell  you  we  will  not  budge  until  this  place  is  ours. 
We  will  carry  it  by  storm.  Sound  the  charge !" 

"Ah,  my  General — 

"Waste  no  more  time,  man — let  the  bugles  sound  the  as 
sault  !"  and  we  saw  that  strange  deep  light  in  her  eye  which 
we  named  the  battle-light,  and  learned  to  know  so  well  in  later 
fields. 

The  martial  notes  pealed  out,  the  troops  answered  with  a 
yell,  and  down  they  came  against  that  formidable  work,  whose 
outlines  were  lost  in  its  own  cannon  smoke,  and  whose  sides 
were  spouting  flame  and  thunder. 

\Ve  suffered  repulse  after  repulse,  but  Joan  was  here  and 
there  and  everywhere  encouraging  the  men,  and  she  kept 
them  to  their  work.  During  three  hours  the  tide  ebbed  and 
flowed,  flowed  and  ebbed ;  but  at  last  La  Hire,  who  was  now 


come,  made  a  final  and  resistless  charge,  and  the  bastille  St. 
Loup  was  ours.  We  gutted  it,  taking  all  its  stores  and  artil 
lery,  and  then  destroyed  it. 

When  all  our  host  was  shouting  itself  hoarse  with  re 
joicings,  and  there  went  up  a  cry  for  the  General,  for  they 
wanted  to  praise  her  and  glorify  her  and  do  her  homage  for 
her  victory,  we  had  trouble  to  find  her;  and  when  we  did  find 
her,  she  was  off  by  herself,  sitting  among  a  ruck  of  corpses, 
with  her  face  in  her  hands,  crying — for  she  was  a  young  girl, 
you  know,  and  her  hero -heart  was  a  young  girl's  heart  too, 
with  the  pity  and  the  tenderness  that  are  natural  to  it.  She 
was  thinking  of  the  mothers  of  those  dead  friends  and  enemies. 

Among  the  prisoners  were  a  number  of  priests,  and  Joan 
took  these  under  her  protection  and  saved  their  lives.  It  was 
urged  that  they  were  most  probably  combatants  in  disguise, 
but  she  said — 

"  As  to  that,  how  can  any  tell  ?  They  wear  the  livery  of 
God,  and  if  even  one  of  these  wears  it  rightfully,  surely  it 
were  better  that  all  the  guilty  should  escape  than  that  we 
have  upon  our  hands  the  blood  of  that  innocent  man.  I  will 
lodge  them  where  I  lodge,  and  feed  them,  and  send  them 
away  in  safety." 

We  marched  back  to  the  city  with  our  crop  of  cannon  and 
prisoners  on  view  and  our  banners  displayed.  Here  was  the 
first  substantial  bit  of  war- work  the  imprisoned  people  had 
seen  in  the  seven  months  that  the  siege  had  endured,  the  first 
chance  they  had  had  to  rejoice  over  a  French  exploit.  You 
may  guess  that  they  made  good  use  of  it.  They  and  the  bells 
went  mad.  Joan  was  their  darling  now,  and  the  press  of 
people  struggling  and  shouldering  each  other  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  her  was  so  great  that  we  could  hardly  push  our  way  through 
the  streets  at  all.  Her  new  name  had  gone  all  about,  and 
was  on  everybody's  lips.  The  Holy  Maid  of  Vaucouleurs 
was  a  forgotten  title;  the  city  had  claimed  her  for  its  own, 
and  she  was  the  MAID  OF  ORLEANS  now.  It  is  a  happiness 
to  me  to  remember  that  I  heard  that  name  the  first  time  it 
was  ever  uttered.  Between  that  first  utterance  and  the  last 


1 86 


time  it  will  be  uttered  on  this  earth — ah,  think  how  many 
mouldering  ages  will  lie  in  that  gap  ! 

The  Boucher  family  welcomed  her  back  as  if  she  had  been 
a  child  of  the  house,  and  saved  from  death  against  all  hope 
or  probability.  They  chided  her  for  going  into  the  battle  and 
exposing  herself  to  danger  during  all  those  hours.  They 
could  not  realize  that  she  had  meant  to  carry  her  warriorship 
so  far,  and  asked  her  if  it  had  really  been  her  purpose  to  go 
right  into  the  turmoil  of  the  fight,  or  hadn't  she  got  swept 
into  it  by  accident  and  the  rush  of  the  troops  ?  They  begged 
her  to  be  more  careful  another  time.  It  was  good  advice, 
maybe,  but  it  fell  upon  pretty  unfruitful  soil. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

BEING  worn  out  with  the  long  fight,  we  all  slept  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon  away  and  two  or  three  hours  into  the  night.  Then 
we  got  up  refreshed,  and  had  supper.  As  for  me,  I  could 
have  been  willing  to  let  the  matter  of  the  ghost  drop ;  and 
the  others  were  of  a  like  mind  no  doubt,  for  they  talked  dili 
gently  of  the  battle  and  said  nothing  of  that  other  thing.  And 
indeed  it  was  fine  and  stirring  to  hear  the  Paladin  rehearse 
his  deeds  and  see  him  pile  his  dead,  fifteen  here,  eighteen 
there,  and  thirty -five  yonder;  but  this  only  postponed  the 
trouble  ;  it  could  not  do  more.  He  could  not  go  on  forever ; 
when  he  had  carried  the  bastille  by  assault  and  eaten  up  the 
garrison  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  stop,  unless  Catherine 
Boucher  would  give  him  a  new  start  and  have  it  all  done  over 
again — as  we  hoped  she  would,  this  time — but  she  was  other 
wise  minded.  As  soon  as  there  was  a  good  opening  and  a 
fair  chance,  she  brought  up  her  unwelcome  subject,  and  we 
faced  it  the  best  we  could. 

We  followed  her  and  her  parents  to  the  haunted  room  at 
eleven  o'clock,  with  candles,  and  also  with  torches  to  place  in 
the  sockets  on  the  walls.  It  was  a  big  house,  with  very  thick 
walls,  and  this  room  was  in  a  remote  part  of  it  which  had 
been  left  unoccupied  for  nobody  knew  how  many  years,  be 
cause  of  its  evil  repute. 

This  was  a  large  room,  like  a  salon,  and  had  a  big  table  in 
it  of  enduring  oak  and  well  preserved ;  but  the  chairs  were 
worm-eaten  and  the  tapestry  on  the  walls  was  rotten  and  dis 
colored  by  age.  The  dusty  cobwebs  under  the  ceiling  had 
the  look  of  not  having  had  any  business  for  a  century. 

Catherine  said — 


1 88 


"  Tradition  says  that  these  ghosts  have  never  been  seen — 
they  have  merely  been  heard.  It  is  plain  that  this  room  was 
once  larger  than  it  is  now,  and  that  the  wall  at  this  end  was 
built  in  some  bygone  time  to  make  and  fence  off  a  narrow 
room  there.  There,  is  no  communication  anywhere  with 
that  narrow  room,  and  if  it  exists  —  and  of  that  there  is  no 
reasonable  doubt — it  has  no  light  and  no  air,  but  is  an  abso 
lute  dungeon.  Wait  where  you  are,  and  take  note  of  what 
happens." 

That  was  all.  Then  she  and  her  parents  left  us.  When 
their  footfalls  had  died  out  in  the  distance  down  the  empty 
stone  corridors  an  uncanny  silence  and  solemnity  ensued 
which  was  dismaller  to  me  than  the  mute  march  past  the  bas 
tilles.  We  sat  looking  vacantly  at  each  other,  and  it  was  easy 
to  see  that  no  one  there  was  comfortable.  The  longer  we 
sat  so,  the  more  deadly  still  that  stillness  got  to  be ;  and 
when  the  wind  began  to  moan  around  the  house  presently,  it 
made  me  sick  and  miserable,  and  I  wished  I  had  been 
brave  enough  to  be  a  coward  this  time,  for  indeed  it  is  no 
proper  shame  to  be  afraid  of  ghosts,  seeing  how  helpless  the 
living  are  in  their  hands.  And  then  these  ghosts  were  invisi 
ble,  which  made  the  matter  the  worse,  as  it  seemed  to  me. 
They  might  be  in  the  room  with  us  at  that  moment — we  could 
not  know.  I  felt  airy  touches  on  my  shoulders  and  my  hair, 
and  I  shrank  from  them  and  cringed,  and  was  not  ashamed 
to  show  this  fear,  for  I  saw  the  others  doing  the  like,  and  knew 
that  they  were  feeling  those  faint  contacts  too.  As  this 
went  on — oh,  eternities  it  seemed,  the  time  dragged  so  drear 
ily — all  those  faces  became  as  wax,  and  I  seemed  sitting  with 
a  congress  of  the  dead. 

At  last,  faint  and  far  and  weird  and  slow,  came  a  "boom ! — 
boom! — boom!" — a  distant  bell  tolling  midnight.  When  the 
last  stroke  died,  that  depressing  stillness  followed  again,  and 
as  before  I  was  staring  at  those  waxen  faces  and  feeling 
those  airy  touches  on  my  hair  and  my  shoulders  once  more. 

One  minute — two  minutes — three  minutes  of  this,  then  we 
heard  a  long  deep  groan,  and  everybody  sprang  up  and  stood, 


<.. ,4 


JOAN'S    ENTRY    INTO    ORLEANS 
(From  a  painting  by  Scherrer) 


189 

with  his  legs  quaking.  It  came  from  that  little  dungeon. 
There  was  a  pause,  then  we  heard  muffled  sobbings,  mixed 
with  pitiful  ejaculations.  Then  there  was  a  second  voice, 
low  and  not  distinct,  and  the  one  seemed  trying  to  comfort 
the  other;  and  so  the  two  voices  went  on,  with  moanings,  and 
soft  sobbings,  and,  ah,  the  tones  were  so  full  of  compassion 
and  sorrow  and  despair!  Indeed,  it  made  one's  heart  sore  to 
hear  it. 

But  those  sounds  were  so  real  and  so  human  and  so  mov 
ing  that  the  idea  of  ghosts  passed  straight  out  of  our  minds, 
and  Sir  Jean  de  Metz  spoke  out  and  said — 

"  Come !  we  will  smash  that  wall  and  set  those  poor  cap 
tives  free.  Here,  with  your  axe  !'? 

The  Dwarf  jumped  forward,  swinging  his  great  axe  with 
both  hands,  and  others  sprang  for  the  torches  and  brought 
them.  Bang!  —  whang!  —  slam!  —  smash  went  the  ancient 
bricks,  and  there  was  a  hole  an  ox  could  pass  through.  We 
plunged  within  and  held  up  the  torches. 

Nothing  there  but  vacancy !  On  the  floor  lay  a  rusty  sword 
and  a  rotten  fan. 

Now  you  know  all  that  I  know.  Take  the  pathetic  relics, 
and  weave  about  them  the  romance  of  the  dungeon's  long- 
vanished  inmates  as  best  you  can. 


CHAPTER   XX 

THE  next  day  Joan  wanted  to  go  against  the  enemy  again, 
but  it  was  the  feast  of  the  Ascension,  and  the  holy  council 
of  bandit  generals  were  too  pious  to  be  willing  to  profane  it 
with  bloodshed.  But  privately  they  profaned  it  with  plot- 
tings,  a  sort  of  industry  just  in  their  line.  They  decided  to 
do  the  only  thing  proper  to  do  now  in  the  new  circumstances 
of  the  case — feign  an  attack  on  the  most  important  bastille 
on  the  Orleans  side,  and  then,  if  the  English  weakened  the 
far  more  important  fortresses  on  the  other  side  of  the  river 
to  come  to  its  help,  cross  in  force  and  capture  those  works. 
This  would  give  them  the  bridge  and  free  communication  with 
the  Sologne,  which  was  French  territory.  They  decided  to 
keep  this  latter  part  of  the  programme  secret  from  Joan. 

Joan  intruded  and  took  them  by  surprise.  She  asked  them 
what  they  were  about  and  what  they  had  resolved  upon. 
They  said  they  had  resolved  to  attack  the  most  important  of 
the  English  bastilles  on  the  Orleans  side  next  morning — and 
there  the  spokesman  stopped.  Joan  said — 

"Well,  go  on." 

"There  is  nothing  more.     That  is  all." 

"  Am  I  to  believe  this  ?  That  is  to  say,  am  I  to  believe 
that  you  have  lost  your  wits  ?"  She  turned  to  Dunois,  and 
said,  "  Bastard,  you  have  sense,  answer  me  this  :  if  this  at 
tack  is  made  and  the  bastille  taken,  how  much  better  off  would 
we  be  than  we  are  now  ?" 

The  Bastard  hesitated,  and  then  began  some  rambling  talk 
not  quite  germane  to  the  question.  Joan  interrupted  him  and 
said — 

"That  will  do,  good  Bastard,  you  have  answered.  Since 
the  Bastard  is  not  able  to  mention  any  advantage  to  be  gained 


by  taking  that  bastille  and  stopping  there,  it  is  not  likely  that 
any  of  you  could  better  the  matter.  You  waste  much  time 
here  in  inventing  plans  that  lead  to  nothing,  and  making  de 
lays  that  are  a  damage.  Are  you  concealing  something  from 
me  ?  Bastard,  this  council  has  a  general  plan,  I  take  it ; 
without  going  into  details,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  It  is  the  same  it  was  in  the  beginning,  seven  months  ago 
— to  get  provisions  in  for  a  long  siege,  and  then  sit  down 
and  tire  the  English  out." 

"In  the  name  of  God!  As  if  seven  months  was  not 
enough,  you  want  to  provide  for  a  year  of  it.  Now  ye  shall 
drop  these  pusillanimous  dreams  —  the  English  shall  go  in 
three  days !" 

Several  exclaimed — 

"  Ah,  General,  General,  be  prudent !" 

"  Be  prudent  and  starve  ?  Do  ye  call  that  war  ?  I  tell  you 
this,  if  you  do  not  already  know  it :  The  new  circumstances 
have  changed  the  face  of  matters.  The  true  point  of  attack 
has  shifted ;  it  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  now.  One 
must  take  the  fortifications  that  command  the  bridge.  The 
English  know  that  if  we  are  not  fools  and  cowards  we  will  try 
to  do  that.  They  are  grateful  for  your  piety  in  wasting  this 
clay.  They  will  re-enforce  the  bridge  forts  from  this  side  to 
night,  knowing  what  ought  to  happen  to-morrow.  You  have 
but  lost  a  day  and  made  our  task  harder,  for  we  will  cross 
and  take  the  bridge  forts.  Bastard,  tell  me  the  truth — does 
not  this  council  know  that  there  is  no  other  course  for  us 
than  the  one  I  am  speaking  of  ?" 

Dunois  conceded  that  the  council  did  know  it  to  be  the 
most  desirable,  but  considered  it  impracticable ;  and  he  ex 
cused  the  council  as  well  as  he  could  by  saying  that  inasmuch 
as  nothing  was  really  and  rationally  to  be  hoped  for  but  a 
long  continuance  of  the  siege  and  wearying  out  of  the  Eng 
lish,  they  were  naturally  a  little  afraid  of  Joan's  impetuous 
notions.  He  said — 

"  You  see,  we  are  sure  that  the  waiting  game  is  the  best, 
whereas  you  would  carry  everything  by  storm." 


192 


"  That  I  would  !— and  moreover  that  I  will !  You  have  my 
orders — here  and  now.  We  will  move  upon  the  forts  of  the 
south  bank  to-morrow  at  dawn." 

"  And  carry  them  by  storm  ?" 

"Yes,  carry  them  by  storm  !" 

La  Hire  came  clanking  in,  and  heard  the  last  remark.  He 
cried  out — 

"  By  my  baton,  that  is  the  music  I  love  to  hear !  Yes,  that 
is  the  right  tune  and  the  beautiful  words,  my  General— we 
will  carry  them  by  storm  !" 

He  saluted  in  his  large  way  and  came  up  and  shook  Joan 
by  the  hand. 

Some  member  of  the  council  was  heard  to  say — 

"  It  follows,  then,  that  we  must  begin  with  the  bastille  St. 
John,  and  that  will  give  the  English  time  to — " 

Joan  turned  and  said — 

"Give  yourselves  no  uneasiness  about  the  bastille  St.  John. 
The  English  will  know  enough  to  retire  from  it  and  fall  back 
on  the  bridge  bastilles  when  they  see  us  coining."  She  added, 
with  a  touch  of  sarcasm,  "  Even  a  war-council  would  know 
enough  to  do  that,  itself." 

Then  she  took  her  leave.  La  Hire  made  this  general  re 
mark  to  the  council : 

"  She  is  a  child,  and  that  is  all  ye  seem  to  see.  Keep  to 
that  superstition  if  you  must,  but  you  perceive  that  this 
child  understands  this  complex  game  of  war  as  well  as  any 
of  you ;  and  if  you  want  my  opinion  without  the  trouble  of 
asking  for  it,  here  you  have  it  without  ruffles  or  embroid 
ery — by  God,  I  think  she  can  teach  the  best  of  you  how  to 
play  it !" 

Joan  had  spoken  truly;  the  sagacious  English  saw  that  the 
policy  of  the  French  had  undergone  a  revolution;  that  the 
policy  of  paltering  and  dawdling  was  ended ;  that  in  place  of 
taking  blows,  blows  were  to  be  struck,  now ;  therefore  they 
made  ready  for  the  new  state  of  things  by  transferring  heavy 
re-enforcements  to  the  bastilles  of  the  south  bank  from  those 
of  the  north. 


193 

The  city  learned  the  great  news  that  once  more  in  French 
history,  after  all  these  humiliating  years,  France  was  going  to 
take  the  offensive  ;  that  France,  so  used  to  retreating,  was 
going  to  advance ;  that  France,  so  long  accustomed  to  skulk 
ing,  was  going  to  face  about  and  strike.  The  joy  of  the  peo 
ple  passed  all  bounds.  The  city  walls  were  black  with  them 
to  see  the  army  march  out  in  the  morning  in  that  strange  new 
position — its  front,  not  its  tail,  toward  an  English  camp.  You 
shall  imagine  for  yourselves  what  the  excitement  was  like  and 
how  it  expressed  itself,  when  Joan  rode  out  at  the  head  of  the 
host  with  her  banner  floating  above  her. 

We  crossed  the  river  in  strong  force,  and  a  tedious  long 
job  it  was,  for  the  boats  were  small  and  not  numerous.  Our 
landing  on  the  island  of  St.  Aignan  was  not  disputed.  We 
threw  a  bridge  of  a  few  boats  across  the  narrow  channel 
thence  to  the  south  shore  and  took  up  our  march  in  good  or 
der  and  unmolested;  for  although  there  was  a  fortress  there — 
St.  John — the  English  vacated  and  destroyed  it  and  fell  back 
on  the  bridge  forts  below  as  soon  as  our  first  boats  were 
seen  to  leave  the  Orleans  shore ;  which  was  what  Joan  had 
said  would  happen,  when  she  was  disputing  with  the  council. 

WTe  moved  down  the  shore  and  Joan  planted  her  standard 
before  the  bastille  of  the  Augustins,  the  first  of  the  formidable 
works  that  protected  the  end  of  the  bridge.  The  trumpets 
sounded  the  assault,  and  two  charges  followed  in  handsome 
style  ;  but  we  were  too  weak,  as  yet,  for  our  main  body  was 
still  lagging  behind.  Before  we  could  gather  for  a  third  as 
sault  the  garrison  of  St.  Prive  were  seen  coming  up  to  re- 
enforce  the  big  bastille.  They  came  on  a  run,  and  the  Augus 
tins  sallied  out,  and  both  forces  came  against  us  with  a  rush, 
and  sent  our  small  army  flying  in  a  panic,  and  followed  us, 
slashing  and  slaying,  and  shouting  jeers  and  insults  at  us. 

Joan  was  doing  her  best  to  rally  the  men,  but  their  wits 
were  gone,  their  hearts  were  dominated  for  the  moment  by 
the  old-time  dread  of  the  English.  Joan's  temper  flamed  up, 
and  she  halted  and  commanded  the  trumpets  to  sound  the 
advance.  Then  she  wheeled  about  and  cried  out — 


194 

"  If  there  is  but  a  dozen  of  you  that  are  not  cowards,  it  is 
enough — follow  me  !" 

Away  she  went,  and  after  her  a  few  dozen  who  had  heard 
her  words  and  been  inspired  by  them.  The  pursuing  force 
was  astonished  to  see  her  sweeping  down  upon  them  with  this 
handful  of  men,  and  it  was  their  turn  now  to  experience  a 
grisly  fright — surely  this  is  a  witch,  this  is  a  child  of  Satan  ! 
That  was  their  thought — and  without  stopping  to  analyze  the 
matter  they  turned  and  fled  in  a  panic. 

Our  flying  squadrons  heard  the  bugle  and  turned  to  look ; 
and  when  they  saw  the  Maid's  banner  speeding  in  the  other 
direction  and  the  enemy  scrambling  ahead  of  it  in  disorder, 
their  courage  returned  and  they  came  scouring  after  us. 

La  Hire  heard  it  and  hurried  his  force  forward  and  caught 
up  with  us  just  as  we  were  planting  our  banner  again  before 
the  ramparts  of  the  Augustins.  We  were  strong  enough  now. 
We  had  a  long  and  tough  piece  of  work  before  us,  but  we  car 
ried  it  through  before  night,  Joan  keeping  us  hard  at  it,  and 
she  and  La  Hire  saying  we  were  able  to  take  that  big  bastille, 
and  must.  The  English  fought  like — well,  they  fought  like 
the  English  ;  when  that  is  said,  there  is  no  more  to  say.  We 
made  assault  after  assault,  through  the  smoke  and  flame  and 
the  deafening  cannon-blasts,  and  at  last  as  the  sun  was  sink 
ing  we  carried  the  place  with  a  rush,  and  planted  our  standard 
on  its  walls. 

The  Augustins  was  ours.  The  Tourelles  must  be  ours  too,  if 
we  would  free  the  bridge  and  raise  the  siege.  We  had  achieved 
one  great  undertaking,  Joan  was  determined  to  accomplish  the 
other.  We  must  lie  on  our  arms  where  we  were,  hold  fast  to 
what  we  had  got,  and  be  ready  for  business  in  the  morning. 
So  Joan  was  not  minded  to  let  the  men  be  demoralized  by 
pillage  and  riot  and  carousings ;  she  had  the  Augustins 
burned,  with  all  its  stores  in  it,  excepting  the  artillery  and 
ammunition. 

Everybody  was  tired  out  with  this  long  day's  hard  work, 
and  of  course  this  was  the  case  with  Joan ;  still,  she  wanted 
to  stay  with  the  army  before  the  Tourelles,  to  be  ready  for 


195 

the  assault  in  the  morning.  The  chiefs  argued  with  her,  and 
at  last  persuaded  her  to  go  home  and  prepare  for  the  great 
work  by  taking  proper  rest,  and  also  by  having  a  leech  look 
to  a  wound  which  she  had  received  in  her  foot.  So  we 
crossed  with  them  and  went  home. 

Just  as  usual,  we  found  the  town  in  a  fury  of  joy,  all  the  bells 
clanging,  everybody  shouting,  and  several  people  drunk.  We 
never  went  out  or  came  in  without  furnishing  good  and  suffi 
cient  reasons  for  one  of  these  pleasant  tempests,  and  so  the 
tempest  was  always  on  hand.  There  had  been  a  blank  ab 
sence  of  reasons  for  this  sort  of  upheavals  for  the  past  seven 
months,  therefore  the  people  took  to  the  upheavals  with  all  the 
more  relish  on  that  account. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

To  get  away  from  the  usual  crowd  of  visitors  and  have  a 
rest,  Joan  went  with  Catherine  straight  to  the  apartment 
which  the  two  occupied  together,  and  there  they  took  their 
supper  and  there  the  wound  was  dressed.  But  then,  instead 
of  going  to  bed,  Joan,  weary  as  she  was,  sent  the  Dwarf  for 
me,  in  spite  of  Catherine's  protests  and  persuasions.  She 
said  she  had  something  on  her  mind,  and  must  send  a  courier 
to  Domremy  with  a  letter  for  our  old  Pere  Fronte  to  read  to 
her  mother.  I  came,  and  she  began  to  dictate.  After  some 
loving  words  and  greetings  to  her  mother  and  the  family, 
came  this : 

"But  the  thing  which  moves  me  to  write  now,  is  to  say 
that  when  you  presently  hear  that  I  am  wounded,  you  shall 
give  yourself  no  concern  about  it,  and  refuse  faith  to  any  that 
shall  try  to  make  you  believe  it  is  serious." 

She  was  going  on,  when  Catharine  spoke  up  and  said: 

"  Ah,  but  it  will  fright  her  so  to  read  these  words.  Strike 
them  out,  Joan,  strike  them  out,  and  wait  only  one  day — two 
days  at  most — then  write  and  say  your  foot  was  wounded  but 
is  well  again — for  it  will  surely  be  well  then,  or  very  near  it. 
Don't  distress  her,  Joan  ;  do  as  I  say." 

A  laugh  like  the  laugh  of  the  old  days,  the  impulsive  free 
laugh  of  an  untroubled  spirit,  a  laugh  like  a  chime  of  bells, 
was  Joan's  answer;  then  she  said— 

"  My  foot  ?  Why  should  I  write  about  such  a  scratch  as 
that  ?  I  was  not  thinking  of  it,  dear  heart." 

"Child,  have  you  another  wound  and  a  worse,  and  have 
not  spoken  of  it?  What  have  you  been  dreaming  about, 
that  you—" 


197 

She  had  jumped  up,  full  of  vague  fears,  to  have  the  leech 
called  back  at  once,  but  Joan  laid  her  hand  upon  her  arm 
and  made  her  sit  down  again,  saying — 

"  There,  now,  be  tranquil,  there  is  no  other  wound,  as  yet ; 
I  am  writing  about  one  which  I  shall  get  when  we  storm  that 
bastille  to-morrow/' 

Catherine  had  the  look  of  one  who  is  trying  to  understand 
a  puzzling  proposition  but  cannot  quite  do  it.  She  said,  in  a 
distraught  fashion  — 

"A  wound  which  you  are  going  to  get?  But  —  but  why 
grieve  your  mother  when  it — when  it  may  not  happen  ?" 

"May  not?     Why,  it  will" 

The  puzzle  was  a  puzzle  still.  Catherine  said  in  that  same 
abstracted  way  as  before — 

"  Will.  It  is  a  strong  word.  I  cannot  seem  to — my  mind 
is  not  able  to  take  hold  of  this.  Oh,  Joan,  such  a  presenti 
ment  is  a  dreadful  thing — it  takes  one's  peace  and  courage 
all  away.  Cast  it  from  you  ! — drive  it  out !  It  will  make  your 
whole  night  miserable,  and  to  no  good ;  for  we  will  hope — " 

"  But  it  isn't  a  presentiment — it  is  a  fact.  And  it  will  not 
make  me  miserable.  It  is  uncertainties  that  do  that,  but  this 
is  not  an  uncertainty." 

"  Joan,  do  you  know  it  is  going  to  happen  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  it.     My  Voices  told  me." 

"Ah,"  said  Catherine,  resignedly,  "if  they  told  you —  But 
are  you  sure  it  was  they  ? — quite  sure  ?" 

"  Yes,  quite.     It  will  happen — there  is  no  doubt." 

"  It  is  dreadful !     Since  when  have  you  known  it  ?" 

"  Since — I  think  it  is  several  weeks."  Joan  turned  to  me. 
"  Louis,  you  will  remember.  How  long  is  it  ?" 

"  Your  Excellency  spoke  of  it  first  to  the  King,  in  Chinon," 
I  answered ;  "  that  was  as  much  as  seven  weeks  ago.  You 
spoke  of  it  again  the  2oth  of  April,  and  also  the  22d,  two 
weeks  ago,  as  I  see  by  my  record  here." 

These  marvels  disturbed  Catherine  profoundly,  but  I  had 
long  ceased  to  be  surprised  at  them.  One  can  get  used  to 
anything  in  this  world.  Catherine  said — 


98 


"  And  it  is  to  happen  to-morrow  ? — always  to-morrow  ?  Is 
it  the  same  date  always  ?  There  has  been  no  mistake,  and  no 
confusion  ?" 

"No,"  Joan  said,  "the  yth  of  May  is  the  date — there  is 
no  other." 

"  Then  you  shall  not  go  a  step  out  of  this  house  till  that 
awful  day  is  gone  by !     You  will  not  dream  of  it,  Joan,  will 
you  ? — promise  that  you  will  stay  with  us." 
But  Joan  was  not  persuaded.     She  said— 
"  It  would   not  help   the   matter,  dear  good  friend.     The 
wound  is  to  come,  and  come  to-morrow.     If  I  do  not  seek  it, 
it  will  seek  me.     My  duty  calls  me  to  that  place  to-morrow ; 
I  should  have  to  go  if  my  death  were  waiting  for  me  there ; 
shall  I  stay  away  for  only  a  wound  ?     Oh  no,  we  must  try  to 
do  better  than  that." 

"  Then  you  are  determined  to  go  ?" 

"Of  a  certainty,  yes.  There  is  only  one  thing  that  I  can 
do  for  France — hearten  her  soldiers  for  battle  and  victory." 
She  thought  a  moment,  then  added,  "  However,  one  should 
not  be  unreasonable,  and  I  would  do  much  to  please  you, 
who  are  so  good  to  me.  Do  you  love  France  ?" 

I  wondered  what  she  might  be  contriving  now,  but  I  saw 
no  clew.  Catherine  said,  reproachfully — 

"  Ah,  what  have  I  done  to  deserve  this  question  ?" 
"Then  you  do  love  France.     I  had  not  doubted  it,  dear. 
Do  not  be  hurt,  but  answer  me — have  you  ever  told  a  lie  ?" 

"  In  my  life  I  have  not  wilfully  told  a  lie — fibs,  but  no 
lies." 

"That  is  sufficient.  You  love  France  and  do  not  tell  lies; 
therefore  I  will  trust  you.  I  will  go  or  I  will  stay,  as  you 
shall  decide." 

"  Oh,  I  thank  you  from  my  heart,  Joan !  How  good  and 
dear  it  is  of  you  to  do  this  for  me  !  Oh,  you  shall  stay,  and 
not  go  !" 

In  her  delight  she  flung  her  arms  about  Joan's  neck  and 
squandered  endearments  upon  her  the  least  of  which  would 
have  made  me  rich,  but  as  it  was,  they  only  made  me  realize 


199 

how  poor  I  was — how  miserably  poor  in  what  I  would  most 
have  prized  in  this  world.  Joan  said — 

"  Then  you  will  send  word  to  my  headquarters  that  I  am 
not  going  ?" 

"  Oh,  gladly.     Leave  that  to  me." 

"  It  is  good  of  you.  And  how  will  you  word  it  ? — for  it 
must  have  proper  official  form.  Shall  I  word  it  for  you  ?" 

"Oh,  do  —  for  you  know  about  these  solemn  procedures 
and  stately  proprieties,  and  I  have  had  no  experience." 

"  Then  word  it  like  this  :  '  The  chief  of  staff  is  commanded 
to  make  known  to  the  King's  forces  in  garrison  and  in  the 
field,  that  the  General-in-Chief  of  the  Armies  of  France  will 
not  face  the  English  on  the  morrow,  she  being  afraid  she  may 
get  hurt.  Signed,  JOAN  OF  ARC,  by  the  hand  of  CATHERINE 
BOUCHER,  who  loves  France.'  " 

There  was  a  pause — a  silence  of  the  sort  that  tortures  one 
into  stealing  a  glance  to  see  how  the  situation  looks,  and  I 
did  that.  There  was  a  loving  smile  on  Joan's  face,  but  the 
color  was  mounting  in  crimson  waves  into  Catherine's,  and 
her  lips  were  quivering  and  the  tears  gathering;  then  she 
said — 

"Oh,  I  am  so  ashamed  of  myself! — and  you  are  so  noble 
and  brave  and  wise,  and  I  am  so  paltry — so  paltry  and  such 
a  fool  T'  and  she  broke  down  and  began  to  cry,  and  I  did  so 
want  to  take  her  in  my  arms  and  comfort  her,  but  Joan  did  it, 
and  of  course  I  said  nothing.  Joan  did  it  well,  and  most 
sweetly  and  tenderly,  but  I  could  have  done  it  as  well,  though 
I  knew  it  would  be  foolish  and  out  of  place  to  suggest  such  a 
thing,  and  might  make  an  awkwardness  too,  and  be  embar 
rassing  to  us  all,  so  I  did  not  offer,  and  I  hope  I  did  right 
and  for  the  best,  though  I  could  not  know,  and  was  many 
times  tortured  with  doubts  afterwards  as  having  perhaps  let  a 
chance  pass  which  might  have  changed  all  my  life  and  made 
it  happier  and  more  beautiful  than,  alas,  it  turned  out  to  be. 
For  this  reason  I  grieve  yet,  when  I  think  of  that  scene,  and 
do  not  like  to  call  it  up  out  of  the  deeps  of  my  memory  be 
cause  of  the  pangs  it  brings. 


200 


Well,  well,  a  good  and  wholesome  thing  is  a  little  harmless 
fun  in  this  world  ;  it  tones  a  body  up  and  keeps  him  human 
and  prevents  him  from  souring.  To  set  that  little  trap  for 
Catherine  was  as  good  and  effective  a  way  as  any  to  show  her 
what  a  grotesque  thing  she  was  asking  of  Joan.  It  was  a 
funny  idea,  now,  wasn't  it,  when  you  look  at  it  all  around  ? 
Even  Catherine  dried  up  her  tears  and  laughed  when  she 
thought  of  the  English  getting  hold  of  the  French  Command- 
er-in-Chief's  reason  for  staying  out  of  a  battle.  She  granted 
that  they  could  have  a  good  time  over  a  thing  like  that. 

We  got  to  work  on  the  letter  again,  and  of  course  did  not 
have  to  strike  out  the  passage  about  the  wound.  Joan  was 
in  fine  spirits  ;  but  when  she  got  to  sending  messages  to  this, 
that,  and  the  other  old  playmate  and  friend,  it  brought  our 
village  and  the  Fairy  Tree  and  the  flowery  plain  and  the 
browsing  sheep  and  all  the  peaceful  beauty  of  our  old  hum 
ble  home-place  back,  and  the  familiar  names  began  to  tremble 
on  her  lips ;  and  when  she  got  to  Haumette  and  Little  Men- 
gette  it  was  no  use,  her  voice  broke  and  she  couldn't  go  on. 
She  waited  a  moment,  then  said — 

"  Give  them  my  love — my  warm  love — my  deep  love — oh, 
out  of  my  heart  of  hearts !  I  shall  never  see  our  home  any 
more." 

Now  came  Pasquerel,  Joan's  confessor,  and  introduced  a 
gallant  knight,  the  Sire  de  Rais,  who  had  been  sent  with  a 
message.  He  said  he  was  instructed  to  say  that  the  council 
had  decided  that  enough  had  been  done  for  the  present ;  that 
it  would  be  safest  and  best  to  be  content  with  what  God  had 
already  done ;  that  the  city  was  now  well  victualled  and  able 
to  stand  a  long  siege ;  that  the  wise  course  must  necessarily 
be  to  withdraw  the  troops  from  the  other  side  of  the  river  and 
resume  the  defensive  —  therefore  they  had  decided  accord 
ingly. 

"The  incurable  cowards  !"  exclaimed  Joan.  "  So  it  was  to 
get  me  away  from  my  men  that  they  pretended  so  much  so 
licitude  about  my  fatigue.  Take  this  message  back,  not  to 
the  council — I  have  no  speeches  for  those  disguised  ladies' 


201 


maids — but  to  the  Bastard  and  La  Hire,  who  are  men.  Tell 
them  the  army  is  to  remain  where  it  is,  and  I  hold  them  re 
sponsible  if  this  command  miscarries.  And  say  the  offensive 
will  be  resumed  in  the  morning.  You  may  go,  good  sir." 

Then  she  said  to  her  priest — 

"  Rise  early,  and  be  by  me  all  the  day.  There  will  be  much 
work  on  my  hands,  and  I  shall  be  hurt  between  my  neck  and 
my  shoulder." 


CHAPTER   XXII 

WE  were  up  at  dawn,  and  after  mass  we  started.  In  the 
hall  we  met  the  master  of  the  house,  who  was  grieved,  good 
man,  to  see  Joan  going  breakfastless  to  such  a  day's  work, 
and  begged  her  to  wait  and  eat,  but  she  couldn't  afford  the 
time — that  is  to  say,  she  couldn't  afford  the  patience,  she 
being  in  such  a  blaze  of  anxiety  to  get  at  that  last  remaining 
bastille  which  stood  between  her  and  the  completion  of  the 
first  great  step  in  the  rescue  and  redemption  of  France. 
Boucher  put  in  another  plea : 

"  But  think — we  poor  beleaguered  citizens  who  have  hardly 
known  the  flavor  of  fish  for  these  many  months,  have  spoil  of 
that  sort  again,  and  we  owe  it  to  you.  There's  a  noble  shad 
for  breakfast ;  wait — be  persuaded." 

Joan  said — 

"  Oh,  there's  going  to  be  fish  in  plenty ;  when  this  day's 
work  is  done  the  whole  river-front  will  be  yours  to  do  as  you 
please  with." 

"  Ah,  your  Excellency  will  do  well,  that  I  know ;  but  we 
don't  require  quite  that  much,  even  of  you ;  you  shall  have  a 
month  for  it  in  place  of  a  day.  Now  be  beguiled — wait  and 
eat.  There's  a  saying  that  he  that  would  cross  a  river  twice 
in  the  same  day  in  a  boat,  will  do  well  to  eat  fish  for  luck,  lest 
he  have  an  accident." 

"  That  doesn't  fit  my  case,  for  to-day  I  cross  but  once  in  a 
boat." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that.     Aren't  you  coming  back  to  us  ?" 

"Yes,  but  not  in  a  boat." 

"  How,  then  ?" 

"  By  the  bridge." 


R   3 


203 

"  Listen  to  that— by  the  bridge  !  Now  stop  this  jesting,  dear 
General,  and  do  as  I  would  have  you.  It's  a  noble  fish." 

"  Be  good,  then,  and  save  me  some  for  supper ;  and  I  will 
bring  one  of  those  Englishmen  with  me  and  he  shall  have  his 
share." 

"  Ah,  well,  have  your  way  if  you  must.  But  he  that  fasts 
must  attempt  but  little  and  stop  early.  When  shall  you  be 
back  ?" 

"  When  I've  raised  the  siege  of  Orleans.     FORWARD  !" 

We  were  off.  The  streets  were  full  of  citizens  and  of 
groups  and  squads  of  soldiers,  but  the  spectacle  was  melan 
choly.  There  was  not  a  smile  anywhere,  but  only  universal 
gloom.  It  was  as  if  some  vast  calamity  had  smitten  all  hope 
and  cheer  dead.  We  were  not  used  to  this,  and  were  aston 
ished.  But  when  they  saw  the  Maid,  there  was  an  immediate 
stir,  and  the  eager  question  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth — 

"  Where  is  she  going  ?     Whither  is  she  bound  ?" 

Joan  heard  it,  and  called  out — 

"  Whither  would  ye  suppose  ?  I  am  going  to  take  the 
Tourelles." 

It  would  not  be  possible  for  any  to  describe  how  those  few 
words  turned  that  mourning  into  joy — into  exaltation — into 
frenzy ;  and  how  a  storm  of  huzzahs  burst  out  and  swept 
down  the  streets  in  every  direction  and  woke  those  corpse- 
like  multitudes  to  vivid  life  and  action  and  turmoil  in  a  mo 
ment.  The  soldiers  broke  from  the  crowd  and  came  flocking 
to  our  standard,  and  many  of  the  citizens  ran  and  got  pikes 
and  halberds  and  joined  us.  As  we  moved  on,  our  numbers 
increased  steadily,  and  the  hurrahing  continued  —  yes,  we 
moved  through  a  solid  cloud  of  noise,  as  you  may  say,  and  all 
.  the  windows  on  both  sides  contributed  to  it,  for  they  were 
filled  with  excited  people. 

You  see,  the  council  had  closed  the  Burgundy  gate  and 
placed  a  strong  force  there,  under  that  stout  soldier  Raoul  cle 
Gaucourt,  Bailly  of  Orleans,  with  orders  to  prevent  Joan  from 
getting  out  and  resuming  the  attack  on  the  Tourelles,  and 
this  shameful  thing  had  plunged  the  city  into  sorrow  and  de- 


204 


spair.  But  that  feeling  was  gone  now.  They  believed  the 
Maid  was  a  match  for  the  council,  and  they  were  right. 

When  we  reached  the  gate,  Joan  told  Gaucourt  to  open  it 
and  let  her  pass. 

He  said  it  would  be  impossible  to  do  this,  for  his  orders 
were  from  the  council  and  were  strict.  Joan  said — 

"  There  is  no  authority  above  mine  but  the  King's.  If  you 
have  an  order  from  the  King,  produce  it." 

"  I  cannot  claim  to  have  an  order  from  him,  General." 

"Then  make  way,  or  take  the  consequences!" 

He  began  to  argue  the  case,  for  he  was  like  the  rest  of 
the  tribe,  always  ready  to  fight  with  words,  not  acts ;  but 
in  the  midst  of  his  gabble  Joan  interrupted  with  the  terse 
order — 

"  Charge  !" 

We  came  with  a  rush,  and  brief  work  we  made  of  that  small 
job.  It  was  good  to  see  the  Bailly's  surprise.  He  was  not 
used  to  this  unsentimental  promptness.  He  said  afterwards 
that  he  was  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  what  he  was  saying — in  the 
midst  of  an  argument  by  which  he  could  have  proved  that  he 
could  not  let  Joan  pass — an  argument  which  Joan  could  not 
have  answered. 

"  Still,  it  appears  she  did  answer  it,"  said  the  person  he  was 
talking  to. 

We  swung  through  the  gate  in  great  style,  with  a  vast  ac 
cession  of  noise,  the  most  of  which  was  laughter,  and  soon 
our  van  was  over  the  river  and  moving  down  against  the 
Tourelles. 

First  we  must  take  a  supporting  work  called  a  boulevard, 
and  which  was  otherwise  nameless,  before  we  could  assault 
the  great  bastille.  Its  rear  communicated  with  the  bastille  by 
a  drawbridge,  under  which  ran  a  swift  and  deep  strip  of  the 
Loire.  The  boulevard  was  strong,  and  Dunois  doubted  our 
ability  to  take  it,  but  Joan  had  no  such  doubt.  She  pounded 
it  with  artillery  all  the  forenoon,  then  about  noon  she  ordered 
an  assault  and  led  it  herself.  We  poured  into  the  fosse 
through  the  smoke  and  a  tempest  of  missiles,  and  Joan, 


205 

shouting  encouragements  to  her  men,  started  to  climb  a 
scaling-ladder,  when  that  misfortune  happened  which  we 
knew  was  to  happen — the  iron  bolt  from  an  arbalest  struck 
between  her  neck  and  her  shoulder,  and  tore  its  way  down 
through  her  armor.  When  she  felt  the  sharp  pain  and  saw 
her  blood  gushing  over  her  breast,  she  was  frightened,  poor 
girl,  and  as  she  sank  to  the  ground  she  began  to  cry,  bitterly. 

The  English  sent  up  a  glad  shout  and  came  surging  down 
in  strong  force  to  take  her,  and  then  for  a  few  minutes  the 
might  of  both  adversaries  was  concentrated  upon  that  spot. 
Over  her  and  about  her,  English  and  French  fought  with  des 
peration — for  she  stood  for  France,  indeed  she  was  France  to 
both  sides — whichever  won  her  won  France,  and  could  keep 
it  forever.  Right  there  in  that  small  spot,  and  in  ten  minutes 
by  the  clock,  the  fate  of  France,  for  all  time,  was  to  be  de 
cided,  and  was  decided. 

If  the  English  had  captured  Joan  then,  Charles  VII.  would 
have  flown  the  country,  the  Treaty  of  Troyes  would  have 
held  good,  and  France,  already  English  property,  would  have 
become,  without  further  dispute,  an  English  province,  to  so 
remain  until  the  Judgment  Day.  A  nationality  and  a  king 
dom  were  at  stake  there,  and  no  more  time  to  decide  it  in 
than  it  takes  to  hard-boil  an  egg.  It  was  the  most  momentous 
ten  minutes  that  the  clock  has  ever  ticked  in  France,  or  ever 
will.  Whenever  you  read  in  histories  about  hours  or  days  or 
weeks  in  which  the  fate  of  one  or  another  nation  hung  in  the 
balance,  do  not  you  fail  to  remember,  nor  your  French  hearts 
to  beat  the  quicker  for  the  remembrance,  the  ten  minutes  that 
France,  called  otherwise  Joan  of  Arc,  lay  bleeding  in  the  fosse 
that  day,  with  two  nations  struggling  over  her  for  her  pos 
session. 

And  you  will  not  forget  the  Dwarf.  For  he  stood  over  her, 
and  did  the  work  of  any  six  of  the  others.  He  swung  his 
axe  with  both  hands ;  whenever  it  came  down,  he  said  those 
two  words,  "  For  France !"  and  a  splintered  helmet  flew 
like  egg-shells,  and  the  skull  that  carried  it  had  learned  its 
manners  and  would  offend  the  French  no  more.  He  piled 


206 


a  bulwark  of  iron-clad  dead  in  front  of  him  and  fought  from 
behind  it ;  and  at  last  when  the  victory  was  ours  we  closed 
about  him,  shielding  him,  and  he  ran  up  a  ladder  with  Joan 
as  easily  as  another  man  would  carry  a  child,  and  bore 
her  out  of  the  battle,  a  great  crowd  following  and  anx 
ious,  for  she  was  drenched  with  blood  to  her  feet,  half  of  it 
her  own  and  the  other  half  English,  for  bodies  had  fallen 
across  her  as  she  lay  and  had  poured  their  red  life-streams 
over  her.  One  couldn't  see  the  white  armor  now,  with  that 
awful  dressing  over  it. 

The  iron  bolt  was  still  in  the  wound — some  say  it  projected 
out  behind  the  shoulder.  It  may  be — I  did  not  wish  to  see, 
and  did  not  try  to.  It  was  pulled  out,  and  the  pain  made 
Joan  cry  again,  poor  thing.  Some  say  she  pulled  it  out  her 
self  because  others  refused,  saying  they  could  not  bear  to 
hurt  her.  As  to  this  I  do  not  know ;  I  only  know  it  was 
pulled  out,  and  that  the  wound  was  treated  with  oil  and 
properly  dressed. 

Joan  lay  on  the  grass,  weak  and  suffering,  hour  after  hour, 
but  still  insisting  that  the  fight  go  on.  Which  it  did,  but  not 
to  much  purpose,  for  it  was  only  under  her  eye  that  men 
were  heroes  and  not  afraid.  They  were  like  the  Paladin;  I 
think  he  was  afraid  of  his  shadow — I  mean  in  the  afternoon, 
when  it  was  very  big  and  long;  but  when  he  was  under 
Joan's  eye  and  the  inspiration  of  her  great  spirit,  what  was  he 
afraid  of?  Nothing  in  this  world — and  that  is  just  the  truth. 

Toward  night  Dunois  gave  it  up.     Joan  heard  the  bugles. 

"  What !"  she  cried.     "  Sounding  the  retreat !" 

Her  wound  was  forgotten  in  a  moment.  She  counter 
manded  the  order,  and  sent  another,  to  the  officer  in  com 
mand  of  a  battery,  to  stand  ready  to  fire  five  shots  in  quick 
succession.  This  was  a  signal  to  a  force  on  the  Orleans  side 
of  the  river  under  La  Hire,  who  was  not,  as  some  of  the  his 
tories  say,  with  us.  It  was  to  be  given  whenever  Joan  should 
feel  sure  the  boulevard  was  about  to  fall  into  her  hands — 
then  that  force  must  make  a  counter-attack  on  the  Tourelles 
by  way  of  the  bridge. 


207 


Joan  mounted  her  horse,  now,  with  her  staff  about  her,  and 
when  our  people  saw  us  coming  they  raised  a  great  shout,  and 
were  at  once  eager  for  another  assault  on  the  boulevard. 
Joan  rode  straight  to  the  fosse  where  she  had  received  her 
wound,  and  standing  there  in  the  rain  of  bolts  and  arrows,  she 
ordered  the  Paladin  to  let  her  long  standard  blow  free,  and  to 
note  when  its  fringes  should  touch  the  fortress.  Presently 
he  said — 

"It  touches." 

"Now,  then,"  said  Joan  to  the  waiting  battalions,  "the 
place  is  yours — enter  in  !  Bugles,  sound  the  assault !  Now, 
then — all  together — go  /" 

And  go  it  was.  You  never  saw  anything  like  it.  We 
swarmed  up  the  ladders  and  over  the  battlements  like  a  wave 
— and  the  place  was  our  property.  Why,  one  might  live  a 
thousand  years  and  never  see  so  gorgeous  a  thing  as  that 
again.  There,  hand  to  hand,  we  fought  like  wild  beasts,  for 
there  was  no  give-up  to  those  English — there  was  no  way  to 
convince  one  of  those  people  but  to  kill  him,  and  even  then 
he  doubted.  At  least  so.  it  was  thought,  in  those  days,  and 
maintained  by  many. 

We  were  busy  and  never  heard  the  five  cannon-shots  fired, 
but  they  were  fired  a  moment  after  Joan  had  ordered  the 
assault ;  and  so,  while  we  were  hammering  and  being  ham 
mered  in  the  smaller  fortress,  the  reserve  on  the  Orleans  side 
poured  across  the  bridge  and  attacked  the  Tourelles  from 
that  side.  A  fire-boat  was  brought  down  and  moored  under 
the  drawbridge  which  connected  the  Tourelles  with  our  boule 
vard  ;  wherefore,  when  at  last  we  drove  our  English  ahead  of 
us  and  they  tried  to  cross  that  drawbridge  and  join  their 
friends  in  the  Tourelles,  the  burning  timbers  gave  way  under 
them  and  emptied  them  in  a  mass  into  the  river  in  their 
heavy  armor — and  a  pitiful  sight  it  was  to  see  brave  men  die 
such  a  death  as  that. 

"  Ah,  God,  pity  them  !"  said  Joan,  and  wept  to  see  that 
sorrowful  spectacle.  She  said  those  gentle  words  and  wept 
those  compassionate  tears  although  one  of  those  perishing 


208 


men  had  grossly  insulted  her  with  a  coarse  name  three  days 
before,  when  she  had  sent  him  a  message  asking  him  to  sur 
render.  That  was  their  leader,  Sir  William  Glasdale,  a  most 
valorous  knight.  He  was  clothed  all  in  steel ;  so  he  plunged 
under  the  water  like  a  lance,  and  of  course  came  up  no  more. 

We  soon  patched  a  sort  of  bridge  together  and  threw  our 
selves  against  the  last  stronghold  of  the  English  power  that 
barred  Orleans  from  friends  and  supplies.  Before  the  sun 
was  quite  down,  Joan's  forever  memorable  day's  work  was 
finished,  her  banner  floated  from  the  fortress  of  the  Tou- 
relles,  her  promise  was  fulfilled,  she  had  raised  the  siege  of 
Orleans ! 

The  seven  months'  beleaguerment  was  ended,  the  thing 
which  the  first  generals  of  France  had  called  impossible  was 
accomplished ;  in  spite  of  all  that  the  King's  ministers  and 
war-councils  could  do  to  prevent  it,  this  little  country  maid 
of  seventeen  had  carried  her  immortal  task  through,  and  had 
done  it  in  four  days  ! 

Good  news  travels  fast,  sometimes,  as  well  as  bad.  By  the 
time  we  were  ready  to  start  homewards  by  the  bridge  the  whole 
city  of  Orleans  was  one  red  flame  of  bonfires,  and  the  heav 
ens  blushed  with  satisfaction  to  see  it ;  and  the  booming  and 
bellowing  of  cannon  and  the  banging  of  bells  surpassed  by 
great  odds  anything  that  even  Orleans  had  attempted  before 
in  the  way  of  noise. 

When  we  arrived — well,  there  is  no  describing  that.  Why, 
those  acres  of  people  that  we  ploughed  through  shed  tears 
enough  to  raise  the  river ;  there  was  not  a  face  in  the  glare 
of  those  fires  that  hadn't  tears  streaming  down  it ;  and  if 
Joan's  feet  had  not  been  protected  by  iron  they  would  have 
kissed  them  off  of  her.  "  Welcome  !  welcome  to  the  Maid  of 
Orleans!"  That  was  the  cry;  I  heard  it  a  hundred  thou 
sand  times.  Welcome  to  our  Maid  !"  some  of  them  word 
ed  it. 

No  other  girl  in  all  history  has  ever  reached  such  a  summit 
of  glory  as  Joan  of  Arc  reache'd  that  day.  And  do  you  think 
it  turned  her  head,  and  that  she  sat  up  to  enjoy  that  delicious 


209 


music  of  homage  and  applause?  No;  another  girl  would 
have  clone  that,  but  not  this  one.  That  was  the  greatest 
heart  and  the  simplest  that  ever  beat.  She  went  straight  to 
bed  and  to  sleep,  like  any  tired  child  ;  and  when  the  people 
found  she  was  wounded  and  would  rest,  they  shut  off  all  pas 
sage  and  traffic  in  that  region  and  stood  guard  themselves 
the  whole  night  through,  to  see  that  her  slumbers  were  not 
disturbed.  They  said,  "  She  has  given  us  peace,  she  shall 
have  peace  herself." 

All  knew  that  that  region  would  be  empty  of  English  next 
day,  and  all  said  that  neither  the  present  citizens  nor  their 
posterity  would  ever  cease  to  hold  that  day  sacred  to  the 
memory  of  Joan  of  Arc.  That  word  has  been  true  for  more 
than  sixty  years ;  it  will  continue  so  always.  Orleans  will 
never  forget  the  8th  of  May,  nor  ever  fail  to  celebrate  it. 
It  is  Joan  of  Arc's  day — and  holy.  * 

*  It  is  still  celebrated  every  year  with  civic  and  military  pomps  and  so 
lemnities. — TRANSLATOR. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

IN  the  earliest  dawn  of  the  morning,  Talbot  and  his  Eng 
lish  forces  evacuated  their  bastilles  and  marched  away,  not 
stopping  to  burn,  destroy,  or  carry  off  anything,  but  leaving 
their  fortresses  just  as  they  were,  provisioned,  armed,  and 
equipped  for  a  long  siege.  It  was  difficult  for  the  people  to 
believe  that  this  great  thing  had  really  happened ;  that  they 
were  actually  free  once  more,  and  might  go  and  come  through 
any  gate  they  pleased,  with  none  to  molest  or  forbid ;  that 
the  terrible  Talbot,  that  scourge  of  the  French,  that  man 
whose  mere  name  had  been  able  to  annul  the  effectiveness 
of  French  armies,  was  gone,  vanquished,  retreating — driven 
away  by  a  girl. 

The  city  emptied  itself.  Out  of  every  gate  the  crowds 
poured.  They  swarmed  about  the  English  bas'tilles  like  an 
invasion  of  ants,  but  noisier  than  those  creatures,  and  carried 
off  the  artillery  and  stores,  then  turned  all  those  dozen  for 
tresses  into  monster  bonfires,  imitation  volcanoes  whose  lofty 
columns  of  thick  smoke  seemed  supporting  the  arch  of  the 
sky. 

The  delight  of  the  children  took  another  form.  To  some 
of  the  younger  ones  seven  months  was  a  sort  of  lifetime. 
They  had  forgotten  what  grass  was  like,  and  the  velvety  green 
meadows  seemed  paradise  to  their  surprised  and  happy  eyes 
after  the  long  habit  of  seeing  nothing  but  dirty  lanes  and 
streets.  It  was  a  wonder  to  them — those  spacious  reaches  of 
open  country  to  run  and  dance  and  tumble  and  frolic  in, 
after  their  dull  and  joyless  captivity ;  so  they  scampered  far 
and  wide  over  the  fair  regions  on  both  sides  of  the  river,  and 
came  back  at  eventide  weary,  but  laden  with  flowers  and 


211 


flushed  with  new  health  drawn  from  the  fresh  country  air 
and  the  vigorous  exercise. 

After  the  burnings,  the  grown  folk  followed  Joan  from 
church  to  church  and  put  in  the  day  in  thanksgivings  for  the 
city's  deliverance,  and  at  night  they  feted  her  and  her  gener 
als  and  illuminated  the  town,  and  high  and  low  gave  them 
selves  up  to  festivities  and  rejoicings.  By  the  time  the  popu 
lace  were  fairly  in  bed,  toward  dawn,  we  were  in  the  saddle 
and  away  toward  Tours  to  report  to  the  King. 

That  was  a  march  which  would  have  turned  any  one's  head 
but  Joan's.  We  moved  between  emotional  ranks  of  grateful 
country  people  all  the  way.  They  crowded  about  Joan  to 
touch  her  feet,  her  horse,  her  armor,  and  they  even  knelt  in 
the  road  and  kissed  her  horse's  hoof-prints. 

The  land  was  full  of  her  praises.  The  most  illustrious 
chiefs  of  the  Church  wrote  to  the  King  extolling  the  Maid, 
comparing  her  to  the  saints  and  heroes  of  the  Bible,  and  warn 
ing  him  not  to  let  "  unbelief,  ingratitude,  or  other  injustice  " 
hinder  or  impair  the  divine  help  sent  through  her.  One  might 
think  there  was  a  touch  of  prophecy  in  that,  and  we  will  let  it 
go  at  that ;  but  to  my  mind  it  had  its  inspiration  in  those 
great  men's  accurate  knowledge  of  the  King's  trivial  and  I 
treacherous  character. 

The  King  had  come  to  Tours  to  meet  Joan.  At  the  present 
day  this  poor  thing  is  called  Charles  the  Victorious,  an  ac 
count  of  victories  which  other  people  won  for  him,  but  in  our 
time  we  had  a  private  name  for  him  which  described  him  bet 
ter,  and  was  sanctified  to  him  by  personal  deserving — Charles 
the  Base.  When  we  entered  the  presence  he  sat  throned, 
with  his  tinselled  snobs  and  dandies  around  him.  He  looked 
like  a  forked  carrot,  so  tightly  did  his  clothing  fit  him  from  \ 
his  waist  down  ;  he  wore  shoes  with  a  rope-like  pliant  toe  a 
foot  long  that  had  to  be  hitched  up  to  the  knee  to  keep  it  out 
of  the  way ;  he  had  on  a  crimson  velvet  cape  that  came  no 
lower  than  his  elbows ;  on  his  head  he  had  a  tall  felt  thing 
like  a  thimble,  with  a  feather  in  its  jewelled  band  that  stuck 
up  like  a  pen  from  an  inkhorn,  and  from  under  that  thimble 


212 


his  bush  of  stiff  hair  stuck  down  to  his  shoulders,  curving 
outwards  at  the  bottom,  so  that  the  cap  and  the  hair  together 
made  the  head  like  a  shuttlecock.  All  the  materials  of  his 
dress  were  rich,  and  all  the  colors  brilliant.  In  his  lap  he 
cuddled  a  miniature  greyhound  that  snarled,  lifting  its  lip  and 
showing  its  white  teeth  whenever  any  slight  movement  dis 
turbed  it.  The  King's  dandies  were  dressed  in  about  the 
same  fashion  as  himself,  and  when  I  remembered  that  Joan 
had  called  the  war  -  council  of  Orleans  "  disguised  ladies' 
maids,"  it  reminded  me  of  people  who  squander  all  their 
money  on  a  trifle  and  then  haven't  anything  to  invest  when 
they  come  across  a  better  chance ;  that  name  ought  to  have 
been  saved  for  these  creatures. 

Joan  fell  on  her  knees  before  the  majesty  of  France,  and 
the  other  frivolous  animal  in  his  lap — a  sight  which  it  pained 
me  to  see.  What  had  that  man  done  for  his  country  or  for  any 
body  in  it,  that  she  or  any  other  person  should  kneel  to  him  ? 
But  she — she  had  just  done  the  only  great  deed  that  had  been 
done  for  France  in  fifty  years,  and  had  consecrated  it  with  the 
libation  of  her  blood.  The  positions  should  have  been  reversed. 

However,  to  be  fair,  one  must  grant  that  Charles  acquitted 
himself  very  well  for  the  most  part,  on  that  occasion — very 
much  better  than  he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing.  He  passed 
his  pup  to  a  courtier,  and  took  off  his  cap  to  Joan  as  if  she 
had  been  a  queen.  Then  he  stepped  from  his  throne  and 
raised  her,  and  showed  quite  a  spirited  and  manly  joy  and 
gratitude  in  welcoming  her  and  thanking  her  for  her  extraor 
dinary  achievement  in  his  service.  My  prejudices  are  of  a 
later  date  than  that.  If  he  had  continued  as  he  was  at  that 
moment,  I  should  not  have  acquired  them. 

He  acted  handsomely.     He  said — 

"  You  shall  not  kneel  to  me,  my  matchless  General ;  you 
have  wrought  royally,  and  royal  courtesies  are  your  due." 
Noticing  that  sbe  was  pale,  he  said,  "  But  you  must  not  stand  ; 
you  have  lost  blood  for  France,  and  your  wound  is  yet  green 
— come."  He  led  her  to  a  seat  and  sat  down  by  her.  "  Now, 
then,  speak  out  frankly,  as  to  one  who  owes  you  much  and 


213 

freely  confesses  it  before  all  this  courtly  assemblage.     What 
shall  be  your  reward  ?     Name  it." 

I  was  ashamed  of  him.  And  yet  that  was  not  fair,  for  how 
could  he  be  expected  to  know  this  marvellous  child  in  these 
few  weeks,  when  we  who  thought  we  had  known  her  all  her 
life  were  daily  seeing  the  clouds  uncover  some  new  altitudes 
of  her  character  whose  existence  was  not  suspected  by  us  be 
fore  ?  But  we  are  all  that  way :  when  we  know  a  thing  we 
have  only  scorn  for  other  people  who  don't  happen  to  know 
it.  And  I  was  ashamed  of  these  courtiers,  too,  for  the  way 
they  licked  their  chops,  so  to  speak,  as  envying  Joan  her  great 
chance,  they  not  knowing  her  any  better  than  the  King  did. 
A  blush  began  to  rise  in  Joan's  cheeks  at  the  thought  that 
she  was  working  for  her  country  for  pay,  and  she  dropped  her 
head  and  tried  to  hide  her  face,  as  girls  always  do  when  they 
find  themselves  blushing  ;  no  one  knows  why  they  do,  but 
they  do,  and  the  more  they  blush  the  more  they  fail  to  get 
reconciled  to  it,  and  the  more  they  can't  bear  to  have  people 
look  at  them  when  they  are  doing  it.  The  King  made  it  a 
great  deal  worse  by  calling  attention  to  it,  which  is  the  un- 
kindest  thing  a  person  can  do  when  a  girl  is  blushing ;  some 
times,  when  there  is  a  big  crowd  of  strangers,  it  is  even  likely 
to  make  her  cry  if  she  is  as  young  as  Joan  was.  God  knows 
the  reason  for  this,  it  is  hidden  from  men.  As  for  me,  I 
would  as  soon  blush  as  sneeze  ;  in  fact,  I  would  rather.  How 
ever,  these  meditations  are  not  of  consequence :  I  will  go  on 
with  what  I  was  saying.  The  King  rallied  her  for  blushing, 
and  this  brought  up  the  rest  of  the  blood  and  turned  her  face 
to  fire.  Then  he  was  sorry,  seeing  what  he  had  done,  and 
tried  to  make  her  comfortable  by  saying  the  blush  was  ex 
ceedingly  becoming  to  her  and  not  to  mind  it — which  caused 
even  the  dog  to  notice  it  now,  so  of  course  the  red  in  Joan's 
face  turned  to  purple,  and  the  tears  overflowed  and  ran  down 
— I  could  have  told  anybody  that  that  would  happen.  The 
King  was  distressed,  and  saw  that  the  best  thing  to  do  would 
be  to  get  away  from  this  subject,  so  he  began  to  say  the 
finest  kind  of  things  about  Joan's  capture  of  the  Tourelles,  and 


214 

presently  when  she  was  more  composed  he  mentioned  the  re 
ward  again  and  pressed  her  to  name  it.  Everybody  listened 
with  anxious  interest  to  hear  what  her  claim  was  going  to  be, 
but  when  her  answer  came  their  faces  showed  that  the  thing 
she  asked  for  was  not  what  they  had  been  expecting. 

"  Oh,  dear  and  gracious  Dauphin,  I  have  but  one  desire — 
only  one.  If — " 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  my  child — name  it." 

"That  you  will  not  delay  a  clay.  My  army  is  strong  and 
valiant,  and  eager  to  finish  its  work  —  march  with  me  to 
Rheims  and  receive  your  crown." 

You  could  see  the  indolent  King  shrink,  in  his  butterfly 
clothes. 

"To  Rheims  —  oh,  impossible,  my  General!  We  march 
through  the  heart  of  England's  power  ?" 

Could  those  be  French  faces  there?  Not  one  of  them  lighted 
in  response  to  the  girl's  brave  proposition,  but  all  promptly 
showed  satisfaction  in  the  King's  objection.  Leave  this  silken 
idleness  for  the  rude  contact  of  war  ?  None  of  these  butterflies 
desired  that.  They  passed  their  jewelled  comfit-boxes  one  to 
another  and  whispered  their  content  in  the  head  butterfly's 
practical  prudence.  Joan  pleaded  with  the  King,  saying — 

"  Ah,  I  pray  you  do  not  throw  away  this  perfect  opportu 
nity  Everything  is  favorable — everything.  It  is  as  if  the  cir 
cumstances  were  specially  made  for  it.  The  spirits  of  our 
army  are  exalted  with  victory,  those  of  the  English  forces  de 
pressed  by  defeat.  Delay  will  change  this.  Seeing  us  hesi 
tate  to  follow  up  our  advantage,  our  men  will  wonder,  doubt, 
lose  confidence,  and  the  English  will  wonder,  gather  courage, 
and  be  bold  again.  Now  is  the  time — prithee  let  us  march  !" 

The  King  shook  his  head,  and  La  Tremouille,  being  asked 
for  an  opinion,  eagerly  furnished  it : 

"  Sire,  all  prudence  is  against  it.  Think  of  the  English 
strongholds  along  the  Loire  ;  think  of  those  that  lie  between 
us  and  Rheims!" 

He  was  going  on,  but  Joan  cut  him  short,  and  said,  turning 
to  him — 


215 

•'If  we  wait,  they  will  all  be  strengthened,  re -enforced. 
Will  that  advantage  us  ?" 

"Why— no." 

"  Then  what  is  your  suggestion  ? — what  is  it  that  you  would 
propose  to  do  ?" 

"  My  judgment  is  to  wait." 

i(  Wait  for  what?" 

The  minister  was  obliged  to  hesitate,  for  he  knew  of  no  ex 
planation  that  would  sound  well.  Moreover,  he  was  not  used 
to  being  catechised  in  this  fashion,  with  the  eyes  of  a  crowd 
of  people  on  him,  so  he  was  irritated,  and  said — 

"  Matters  of  state  are  not  proper  matters  for  public  dis 
cussion." 

Joan  said,  placidly — 

"  I  have  to  beg  your  pardon.  My  trespass  came  of  igno 
rance.  I  did  not  know  that  matters  connected  with  your  de 
partment  of  the  government  were  matters  of  state." 

The  minister  lifted  his  brows  in  amused  surprise,  and  said, 
with  a  touch  of  sarcasm — 

"  I  am  the  King's  chief  minister,  and  yet  you  had  the  im 
pression  that  matters  connected  with  my  department  are  not 
matters  of  state  ?  Pray  how  is  that  ?" 

Joan  replied,  indifferently — 

"  Because  there  is  no  state."1 

"  No  state !" 

"  No,  sir,  there  is  no  state,  and  no  use  for  a  minister. 
France  is  shrunk  to  a  couple  of  acres  of  ground ;  a  sheriff's 
constable  could  take  care  of  it ;  its  affairs  are  not  matters  of 
state.  The  term  is  too  large." 

The  King  did  not  blush,  but  burst  into  a  hearty,  careless 
laugh,  and  the  court  laughed  too,  but  prudently  turned  its  head 
and  did  it  silently.  La  Tremouille  was  angry,  and  opened  his 
mouth  to  speak,  but  the  King  put  up  his  hand,  and  said — 

"There — I  take  her  under  the  royal  protection.  She  has 
spoken  the  truth,  the  ungilded  truth — how  seldom  I  hear  it ! 
With  all  this  tinsel  on  me  and  all  this  tinsel  about  me,  I  am 
but  a  sheriff  after  all — a  poor  shabby  two-acre  sheriff — and 


216 


you  are  but  a  constable,"  and  he  laughed  his  cordial  laugh 
again.  "Joan,  my  frank,  honest  General,  will  you  name  your 
reward  ?  I  would  ennoble  you.  You  shall  quarter  the  crown 
and  the  lilies  of  France  for  blazon,  and  with  them  your  vic 
torious  sword  to  defend  them — speak  the  word." 

It  made  an  eager  buzz  of  surprise  and  envy  in  the  assem 
blage,  but  Joan  shook  her  head  and  said — 

"  Ah,  I  cannot,  dear  and  noble  Dauphin.  To  be  allowed 
to  work  for  France,  to  spend  one's  self  for  France,  is  itself  so 
supreme  a  reward  that  nothing  can  add  to  it — nothing.  Give 
me  the  one  reward  I  ask,  the  dearest  of  all  rewards,  the  high 
est  in  your  gift — march  with  me  to  Rheims  and  receive  your 
crown.  I  will  beg  it  on  my  knees." 

But  the  King  put  his  hand  on  her  arm,  and  there  was  a 
really  brave  awakening  in  his  voice  and  a  manly  fire  in  his 
eye  when  he  said — 

"  No  ;  sit.     You  have  conquered  me — it  shall  be  as  you — 

But  a  warning  sign  from  his  minister  halted  him,  and  he 
added,  to  the  relief  of  the  Court — 

"  Well,  well,  we  will  think  of  it,  we  will  think  it  over  and 
see.  Does  that  content  you,  impulsive  little  soldier?" 

The  first  part  of  the  speech  sent  a  glow  of  delight  to  Joan's 
face,  but  the  end  of  it  quenched  it  and  she  looked  sad,  and 
the  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes.  After  a  moment  she  spoke 
out  with  what  seemed  a  sort  of  terrified  impulse,  and  said— 

"  Oh,  use  me ;  I  beseech  you,  use  me— there  is  but  little 
time  !" 

"  But  little  time  ?" 

"  Only  a  year — I  shall  last  only  a  year." 

"Why,  child,  there  are  fifty  good  years  in  that  compact 
little  body  yet." 

"  Oh,  you  err,  indeed  you  do.  In  one  little  year  the  end 
will  come.  Ah,  the  time  is  so  short,  so  short;  the  moments 
are  flying,  and  so  much  to  be  done.  Oh,  use  me,  and  quickly 
— it  is  life  or  death  for  France." 

Even  those  insects  were  sobered  by  her  impassioned  words. 
The  King  looked  very  grave — grave,  and  strongly  impressed. 


EMBELLISHMENT    SHOWING   THE    DOORWAY    OF   THE    HOUSE   IN 
WHICH   JOAN    WAS   BORN 


217 


His  eyes  lit  suddenly  with  an  eloquent  fire,  and  he  rose  and 
drew  his  sword  and  raised  it  aloft ;  then  he  brought  it  slowly 
down  upon  Joan's  shoulder  and  said  : 

"  Ah,  thou  art  so  simple,  so  true,  so  great,  so  noble — and  by 
this  accolade  I  join  thee  to  the  nobility  of  France,  thy  fitting 
place  !  And  for  thy  sake  I  do  hereby  ennoble  all  thy  family 
and  all  thy  kin ;  and  all  their  descendants  born  in  wedlock, 
not  only  in  the  male  but  also  in  the  female  line.  And  more ! 
—more !  To  distinguish  thy  house  and  honor  it  above  all 
others,  we  add  a  privilege  never  accorded  to  any  before  in  the 
history  of  these  dominions :  the  females  of  thy  line  shall 
have  and  hold  the  right  to  ennoble  their  husbands  when 
these  shall  be  of  inferior  degree."  [Astonishment  and  envy 
flared  up  in  every  countenance  when  the  words  were  uttered 
which  conferred  this  extraordinary  grace.  The  King  paused 
and  looked  around  upon  these  signs  with  quite  evident  satis 
faction.]  "  Rise,  Joan  of  Arc,  now  and  henceforth  surnamed 
Du  fJs,  in  grateful  acknowledgment  of  the  good  blow  which 
you  have  struck  for  the  lilies  of  France  ;  and  they,  and  the 
royal  crown,  and  your  own  victorious  sword,  fit  and  fair  com 
pany  for  each  other,  shall  be  grouped  in  your  escutcheon  and 
be  and  remain  the  symbol  of  your  high  nobility  forever." 

As  my  lady  Du  Lis  rose,  the  gilded  children  of  privilege 
pressed  forward  to  welcome  her  to  their  sacred  ranks  and  call 
her  by  her  new  name ;  but  she  was  troubled,  and  said  these 
honors  were  not  meet  for  one  of  her  lowly  birth  and  station, 
and  by  their  kind  grace  she  would  remain  simple  Joan  of  Arc, 
nothing  more — and  so  be  called. 

Nothing  more !  As  if  there  could  be  anything  more,  any 
thing  higher,  anything  greater!  My  lady  Du  Lis  —  why,  it 
was  tinsel,  petty,  perishable.  But — JOAN  OF  ARC  !  The  mere 
sound  of  it  sets  one's  pulses  leaping. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

IT  was  vexatious  to  see  what  a  to-do  the  whole  town,  and 
next  the  whole  country,  made  over  the  news.  Joan  of  Arc 
ennobled  by  the  King !  People  went  dizzy  with  wonder  and 
delight  over  it.  You  cannot  imagine  how  she  was  gaped  at, 
stared  at,  envied.  Why,  one  would  have  supposed  that  some 
great  and  fortunate  thing  had  happened  to  her.  But  we  did 
not  think  any  great  things  of  it.  To  our  minds  no  mere  hu 
man  hand  could  add  a  glory  to  Joan  of  Arc.  To  us  she  was 
the  sun  soaring  in  the  heavens,  and  her  new  nobility  a  candle 
atop  of  it ;  to  us  it  was  swallowed  up  and  lost  in  her  own 
light.  And  she  was  as  indifferent  to  it  and  as  unconscious  of 
it  as  the  other  sun  would  have  been. 

But  it  was  different  with  her  brothers.  They  were  proud 
and  happy  in  their  new  dignity,  which  was  quite  natural.  And 
Joan  was  glad  it  had  been  conferred,  when  she  saw  how 
pleased  they  were.  It  was  a  clever  thought  in  the  King  to 
outflank  her  scruples  by  marching  on  them  under  shelter  of 
her  love  for  her  family  and  her  kin. 

Jean  and  Pierre  sported  their  coat-of-arms  right  away ;  and 
their  society  was  courted  by  everybody,  the  nobles  and  com 
mons  alike.  The  Standard-bearer  said,  with  some  touch  of 
bitterness,  that  he  could  see  that  they  just  felt  good  to  be 
alive,  they  were  so  soaked  with  the  comfort  of  their  glory; 
and  didn't  like  to  sleep  at  all,  because  when  they  were  asleep 
they  didn't  know  they  were  noble,  and  so  sleep  was  a  clean 
loss  of  time.  And  then  he  said — 

"  They  can't  take  precedence  of  me  in  military  functions 
and  state  ceremonies,  but  when  it  comes  to  civil  ones  and  so 
ciety  affairs  I  judge  they'll  cuddle  coolly  in  behind  you  and 


219 

the  knights,  and  Noel  and  I  will  have  to  walk  behind  them— 
hey?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  think  you  are  right." 

"  I  was  just  afraid  of  it — just  afraid  of  it,"  said  the  Stand 
ard-bearer,  with  a  sigh.  "  Afraid  of  it  ?  I'm  talking  like  a 
fool :  of  course  I  knew  it.  Yes,  I  was  talking  like  a  fool." 

Noel  Rainguesson  said,  musingly — 

"  Yes,  I  noticed  something  natural  about  the  tone  of  it." 

We  others  laughed. 

"  Oh,  you  did,  did  you  ?  You  think  you  are  very  clever, 
don't  you  ?  I'll  take  and  wring  your  neck  for  you  one  of  these 
days,  Noel  Rainguesson." 

The  Sieur  de  Metz  said — 

"  Paladin,  your  fears  haven't  reached  the  top  notch.  They 
are  away  below  the  grand  possibilities.  Didn't  it  occur  to 
you  that  in  civil  and  society  functions  they  will  take  pre 
cedence  of  all  the  rest  of  the  personal  staff — every  individ 
ual  of  us?" 

"  Oh,  come  !" 

"  You'll  find  it's  so.  Look  at  their  escutcheon.  Its  chief- 
est  feature  is  the  lilies  of  France.  It's  royal,  man,  royal — do 
you  understand  the  size  of  that  ?  The  lilies  are  there  by  au 
thority  of  the  King — do  you  understand  the  size  of  that  ? 
Though  not  in  detail  and  in  entirety,  they  do  nevertheless 
substantially  quarter  the  arms  of  France  in  their  coat.  Imag 
ine  it !  consider  it !  measure  the  magnitude  of  it !  We  walk 
in  front  of  those  boys  ?  Bless  you,  we've  done  that  for  the 
last  time.  In  my  opinion  there  isn't  a  lay  lord  in  this  whole 
region  that  can  walk  in  front  of  them,  except  the  Duke  d'Alen- 
gan,  prince  of  the  blood." 

You  could  have  knocked  the  Paladin  down  with  a  feather. 
He  seemed  to  actually  turn  pale.  He  worked  his  lips  a  mo 
ment  without  getting  anything  out ;  then  it  came  : 

"/didn't  know  that,  nor  the  half  of  it;  how  could  I?  I've 
been  an  idiot.  I  see  it  now — I've  been  an  idiot.  I  met  them 
this  morning,  and  sung  out  hello  to  them  just  as  I  would  to 
anybody,  /didn't  mean  to  be  ill-mannered,  but  I  didn't  know 


220 


the  half  of  this  that  you've  been  telling.  I've  been  an  ass. 
Yes,  that  is  all  there  is  to  it — I've  been  an  ass." 

Noel  Rainguesson  said,  in  a  kind  of  weary  way : 

"  Yes,  that  is  likely  enough  ;  but  I  don't  see  why  you  should 
seem  surprised  at  it." 

"  You  don't,  don't  you  ?     Well,  why  don't  you  ?" 

"  Because  I  don't  see  any  novelty  about  it.  With  some 
people  it  is  a  condition  which  is  present  all  the  time.  Now 
you  take  a  condition  which  is  present  all  the  time,  and  the  re 
sults  of  that  condition  will  be  uniform ;  this  uniformity  of  re 
sult  will  in  time  become  monotonous  ;  monotonousness,  by  the 
law  of  its  being,  is  fatiguing.  If  you  had  manifested  fatigue 
upon  noticing  that  you  had  been  an  ass,  that  would  have  been 
logical,  that  would  have  been  rational ;  whereas  it  seems  to 
me  that  to  manifest  surprise  was  to  be  again  an  ass,  because 
the  condition  of  intellect  that  can  enable  a  person  to  be  sur 
prised  and  stirred  by  inert  monotonousness  is  a — 

"  Now  that  is  enough,  Noel  Rainguesson ;  stop  where  you 
are,  before  you  get  yourself  into  trouble.  And  don't  bother 
me  any  more  for  some  days  or  a  week  an  it  please  you,  for  I 
cannot  abide  your  clack." 

"  Come,  I  like  that !  I  didn't  want  to  talk.  I  tried  to  get 
out  of  talking.  If  you  didn't  want  to  hear  my  clack,  what  did 
you  keep  intruding  your  conversation  on  me  for?" 

"  I  ?     I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Well,  you  did  it,  anyway.  And  I  have  a  right  to  feel 
hurt,  and  I  do  feel  hurt,  to  have  you  treat  me  so.  It  seems 
to  me  that  when  a  person  goads,  and  crowds,  and  in  a  man 
ner  forces  another  person  to  talk,  it  is  neither  very  fair  nor 
very  good-mannered  to  call  what  he  says  clack" 

"  Oh,  snuffle — do !  and  break  your  heart,  you  poor  thing. 
Somebody  fetch  this  sick  doll  a  sugar-rag.  Look  you,  Sir 
Jean  de  Metz,  do  you  feel  absolutely  certain  about  that 
thing  ?" 

"  What  thing  ?" 

"  Why  that  Jean  and  Pierre  are  going  to  take  precedence  of 
all  the  lay  noblesse  hereabouts  except  the  Duke  d'Alen^on  ?" 


"  I  think  there  is  not  a  doubt  of  it." 

The  Standard-bearer  was  deep  in  thoughts  and  dreams  a 
few  moments,  then  the  silk-and-velvet  expanse  of  his  vast 
breast  rose  and  fell  with  a  sigh,  and  he  said— 

"  Dear,  dear,  what  a  lift  it  is  !  It  just  shows  what  luck  can 
do.  Well,  I  don't  care.  I  shouldn't  care  to  be  a  painted  ac 
cident — I  shouldn't  value  it.  I  am  prouder  to  have  climbed 
up  to  where  I  am  just  by  sheer  natural  merit  than  I  would  be 
to  ride  the  very  sun  in  the  zenith  and  have  to  reflect  that  I 
was  nothing  but  a  poor  little  accident,  and  got  shot  up  there 
out  of  somebody  else's  catapult.  To  me,  merit  is  everything 
— in  fact  the  only  thing.  All  else  is  dross." 

Just  then  the  bugles  blew  the  assembly,  and  that  cut  our 
talk  short. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

THE  days  began  to  waste  away — and  nothing  decided,  noth 
ing  done.  The  army  was  full  of  zeal,  but  it  was  also  hungry. 
It  got  no  pay,  the  treasury  was  getting  empty,  it  was  becom 
ing  impossible  to  feed  it ;  under  pressure  of  privation  it 
began  to  fall  apart  and  disperse — which  pleased  the  trifling 
court  exceedingly.  Joan's  distress  was  pitiful  to  see.  She 
was  obliged  to  stand  helpless  while  her  victorious  army  dis 
solved  away  until  hardly  the  skeleton  of  it  was  left. 

At  last  one  day  she  went  to  the  Castle  of  Loches,  where 
the  King  was  idling.  She  found  him  consulting  with  three  of 
his  councillors,  Robert  le  Magon,  a  former  Chancellor  of 
France,  Christophe  d'Harcourt,  and  Gerard  Machet.  The 
Bastard  of  Orleans  was  present  also,  and  it  is  through  him 
that  we  know  what  happened.  Joan  threw  herself  at  the 
King's  feet  and  embraced  his  knees,  saying : 

"  Noble  Dauphin,  prithee  hold  no  more  of  these  long  and 
numerous  councils,  but  come,  and  come  quickly,  to  Rheims 
and  receive  your  crown." 

Christophe  d'Harcourt  asked — 

"  Is  it  your  Voices  that  command  you  to  say  that  to  the 
King?" 

"Yes,  and  urgently." 

"  Then  will  you  not  tell  us  in  the  King's  presence  in  what 
way  the  Voices  communicate  with  you  ?" 

It  was  another  sly  attempt  to  trap  Joan  into  indiscreet  ad 
missions  and  dangerous  pretensions.  But  nothing  came  of 
it.  Joan's  answer  was  simple  and  straightforward,  and  the 
smooth  Bishop  was  not  able  to  find  any  fault  with  it.  She 
said  that  when  she  met  with  people  who  doubted  the  truth  of 


223 

her  mission  she  went  aside  and  prayed,  complaining  of  the 
distrust  of  these,  and  then  the  comforting  Voices  were  heard 
at  her  ear  saying,  soft  and  low,  "Go  forward,  Daughter  of 
God,  and  I  will  help  thee."  Then  she  added,  "  When  I  hear 
that,  the  joy  in  my  heart,  oh,  it  is  insupportable  !" 

The  Bastard  said  that  when  she  said  these  words  her  face 
lit  up  as  with  a  flame,  and  she  was  like  one  in  an  ecstasy. 

Joan  pleaded,  persuaded,  reasoned ;  gaining  ground  little 
by  little,  but  opposed  step  by  step  by  the  council.  She 
begged,  she  implored,  leave  to  march.  When  they  could  an 
swer  nothing  further,  they  granted  that  perhaps  it  had  been 
a  mistake  to  let  the  army  waste  away,  but  how  could  we  help 
it  now  ?  how  could  we  march  without  an  army  ? 

"  Raise  one  !"  said  Joan. 

"  But  it  will  take  six  weeks." 

"  No  matter — begin  !  let  us  begin  !" 

"It  is  too  late.  Without  doubt  the  Duke  of  Bedford  has 
been  gathering  troops  to  push  to  the  succor  of  his  strong 
holds  on  the  Loire." 

"Yes,  while  we  have  been  disbanding  ours — and  pity  'tis. 
But  we  must  throw  away  no  more  time ;  we  must  bestir  our 
selves." 

The  King  objected  that  he  could  not  venture  toward  Rheims 
with  those  strong  places  on  the  Loire  in  his  path.  But  Joan 
said  : 

"  \Ve  will  break  them  up.     Then  you  can  march." 

With  that  plan  the  king  was  willing  to  venture  assent.  He 
could  sit  around  out  of  danger  while  the  road  was  being 
cleared. 

Joan  came  back  in  great  spirits.  Straightway  everything 
was  stirring.  Proclamations  were  issued  calling  for  men,  a 
recruiting  camp  was  established  at  Selles  in  Berry,  and  the 
commons  and  the  nobles  began  to  flock  to  it  with  enthu 
siasm. 

A  deal  of  the  month  of  May  had  been  wasted ;  and  yet  by 
the  6th  of  June  Joan  had  swept  together  a  new  army  and  was 
ready  to  march.  She  had  eight  thousand  men.  Think  of 


224 


that.  Think  of  gathering  together  such  a  body  as  that  in  that 
little  region.  And  these  were  veteran  soldiers,  too.  In  fact 
most  of  the  men  in  France  were  soldiers,  when  you  came  to 
that ;  for  the  wars  had  lasted  generations  now.  Yes,  most 
Frenchmen  were  soldiers  ;  and  admirable  runners,  too,  both 
by  practice  and  inheritance ;  they  had  done  next  to  nothing 
but  run  for  near  a  century.  But  that  was  not  their  fault. 
They  had  had  no  fair  and  proper  leadership — at  least  leaders 
with  a  fair  and  proper  chance.  Away  back,  King  and  Court 
got  the  habit  of  being  treacherous  to  the  leaders ;  then  the 
leaders  easily  got  the  habit  of  disobeying  the  King  and  going 
their  own  way,  each  for  himself  and  nobody  for  the  lot.  No 
body  could  win  victories  that  way.  Hence,  running  became 
the  habit  of  the  French  troops,  and  no  wonder.  Yet  all  that 
those  troops  needed  in  order  to  be  good  fighters  was  a  leader 
who  would  attend  strictly  to  business — a  leader  with  all  au 
thority  in  his  hands  in  place  of  a  tenth  of  it  along  with  nine 
other  generals  equipped  with  an  equal  tenth  apiece.  They 
had  a  leader  rightly  clothed  with  authority  now,  and  with  a 
head  and  heart  bent  on  war  of  the  most  intensely  business 
like  and  earnest  sort — and  there  would  be  results.  No  doubt 
of  that.  They  had  Joan  of  Arc;  and  under  that  leadership 
their  legs  would  lose  the  art  and  mystery  of  running. 

Yes,  Joan  was  in  great  spirits.  She  was  here  and  there  and 
everywhere,  all  over  the  camp,  by  day  and  by  night,  pushing 
things.  And  wherever  she  came  charging  down  the  lines,  re 
viewing  the  troops,  it  was  good  to  hear  them  break  out  and 
cheer.  And  nobody  could  help  cheering,  she  was  such  a  vis- 
ion  of  young  bloom  and  beauty  and  grace,  and  such  an  incar 
nation  of  pluck  and  life  and  go  !  She  was  growing  more  and 
more  ideally  beautiful  every  day,  as  was  plain  to  be  seen— 
and  these  were  days  of  development ;  for  she  was  well  past 
seventeen,  now — in  fact  she  was  getting  close  upon  seventeen 
and  a  half — indeed,  just  a  little  woman,  as  you  may  say. 

The  two  young  Counts  de  Laval  arrived  one  day — fine 
young  fellows  allied  to  the  greatest  and  most  illustrious 
houses  of  France  j  and  they  could  not  rest  till  they  had  seen 


225 

Joan  of  Arc.  So  the  King  sent  for  them  and  presented  them 
to  her,  and  you  may  believe  she  filled  the  bill  of  their  expec 
tations.  When  they  heard  that  rich  voice  of  hers  they  must 
have  thought  it  was  a  flute  ;  and  when  they  saw  her  deep  eyes 
and  her  face,  and  the  soul  that  looked  out  of  that  face,  you 
could  see  that  the  sight  of  her  stirred  them  like  a  poem,  like 
lofty  eloquence,  like  martial  music.  One  of  them  wrote  home 
to  his  people,  and  in  his  letter  he  said,  "It  seemed  some 
thing  divine  to  see  her  and  hear  her."  Ah,  yes,  and  it  was  a 
true  word.  Truer  word  was  never  spoken. 

He  saw  her  when  she  was  ready  to  begin  her  march  and 
open  the  campaign,  and  this  is  what  he  said  about  it : 

"  She  was  clothed  all  in  white  armor  save  her  head,  and  in 
her  hand  she  carried  a  little  battle-axe;  and  when  she  was 
ready  to  mount  her  great  black  horse  he  reared  and  plunged 
and  would  not  let  her.  Then  she  said,  *  Lead  him  to  the 
cross.'  This  cross  was  in  front  of  the  church  close  by.  So 
they  led  him  there.  Then  she  mounted,  and  he  never  budged, 
any  more  than  if  he  had  been  tied.  Then  she  turned  toward 
the  door  of  the  church  and  said,  in  her  soft  womanly  voice, 
'  You,  priests  and  people  of  the  Church,  make  processions  and 
pray  to  God  for  us  !'  Then  she  spurred  away,  under  her  stand 
ard,  with  her  little  axe  in  her  hand,  crying  *  Forward — march  !' 
One  of  her  brothers,  who  came  eight  days  ago,  departed  with 
her ;  and  he  also  was  clad  all  in  white  armor." 

I  was  there,  and  I  saw  it  too  ;  saw  it  all,  just  as  he  pictures 
it.  And  I  see  it  yet — the  little  battle-axe,  the  dainty  plumed 
cap,  the  white  armor — all  in  the  soft  June  afternoon  ;  I  see  it 
just  as  if  it  were  yesterday.  And  I  rode  with  the  staff— the 
personal  staff — the  staff  of  Joan  of  Arc. 

That  young  Count  was  dying  to  go  too,  but  the  King  held 
him  back  for  the  present.  But  Joan  had  made  him  a  prom 
ise.  In  his  letter  he  said  : 

"  She  told  me  that  when  the  King  starts  for  Rheims  I  shall 
go  with  him.  But  God  grant  I  may  not  have  to  wait  till  then, 
but  may  have  a  part  in  the  battles !" 

She  made  him  that  promise  when  she  was  taking  leave  of 


226 


my  lady  the  Duchess  d'Alengon.  The  Duchess  was  exacting 
a  promise,  so  it  seemed  a  proper  time  for  others  to  do  the 
like.  The  Duchess  was  troubled  for  her  husband,  for  she 
foresaw  desperate  fighting;  and  she  held  Joan  to  her  breast, 
and  stroked  her  hair  lovingly,  and  said : 

"You  must  watch  over  him,  dear,  and  take  care  of  him,  and 
send  him  back  to  me  safe.  I  require  it  of  you ;  I  will  not 
let  you  go  till  you  promise." 

Joan  said  : 

"  I  give  you  the  promise  with  all  my  heart ;  and  it  is  not 
just  words,  it  is  a  promise  :  you  shall  have  him  back  without 
a  hurt.  Do  you  believe  ?  And  are  you  satisfied  with  me 
now  ?" 

The  Duchess  could  not  speak,  but  she  kissed  Joan  on  the 
forehead ;  and  so  they  parted. 

We  left  on  the  6th  and  stopped  over  at  Romorantin ; 
then  on  the  gth  Joan  entered  Orleans  in  state,  under  tri 
umphal  arches,  with  the  welcoming  cannon  thundering  and 
seas  of  welcoming  flags  fluttering  in  the  breeze.  The  Grand 
Staff  rode  with  her,  clothed  in  shining  splendors  of  costume 
and  decorations :  the  Duke  d'Alenc.on ;  the  Bastard  of  Or 
leans  ;  the  Sire  de  Boussac,  Marshal  of  France ;  the  Lord  de 
Graville,  Master  of  the  Crossbowmen  ;  the  Sire  de  Culan,  Ad 
miral  of  France ;  Ambroise  de  Lore' ;  Etienne  de  Vignoles, 
called  La  Hire  5  Gautier  de  Brusac,  and  other  illustrious 
captains. 

It  was  grand  times :  the  usual  shoutings,  and  packed  mul 
titudes,  the  usual  crush  to  get  sight  of  Joan ;  but  at  last  we 
crowded  through  to  our  old  lodgings,  and  I  saw  old  Boucher 
and  the  wife  and  that  dear  Catherine  gather  Joan  to  their 
hearts  and  smother  her  with  kisses — and  my  heart  ached  so ! 
for  I  could  have  kissed  Catherine  better  than  anybody,  and 
more  and  longer  ;  yet  was  not  thought  of  for  that  office,  and 
I  so  famished  for  it.  Ah,  she  was  so  beautiful,  and  oh,  so 
sweet !  I  had  loved  her  the  first  day  I  ever  saw  her,  and 
from  that  day  forth  she  was  sacred  to  me.  I  have  carried 
her  image  in  my  heart  for  sixty-three  years — all  lonely  there, 


227 

yes,  solitary,  for  it  never  has  had  company — and  I  am  grown 
so  old,  so  old :  but  it,  oh,  it  is  as  fresh  and  young  and  merry 
and  mischievous  and  lovely  and  sweet  and  pure  and  witching 
and  divine  as  it  was  when  it  crept  in  there,  bringing  benedic 
tion  and  peace  to  its  habitation  so  long  ago,  so  long  ago — for 
it  has  not  aged  a  day ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THIS  time,  as  before,  the  King's  last  command  to  the  gen 
erals  was  this  :  "  See  to  it  that  you  do  nothing  without  the  sanc 
tion  of  the  Maid."  And  this  time  the  command  was  obeyed  ; 
and  would  continue  to  be  obeyed  all  through  the  coming  great 
days  of  the  Loire  campaign. 

That  was  a  change  !  That  was  new !  It  broke  the  tradi 
tions.  It  shows  you  what  sort  of  a  reputation  as  a  com- 
mander-in-chief  the  child  had  made  for  herself  in  ten  days  in 
the  field.  It  was  a  conquering  of  men's  doubts  and  suspicions 
and  a  capturing  and  solidifying  of  men's  belief  and  confidence 
such  as  the  grayest  veteran  on  the  Grand  Staff  had  not  been 
able  to  achieve  in  thirty  years.  Don't  you  remember  that 
when  at  sixteen  Joan  conducted  her  own  case  in  a  grim 
court  of  law  and  won  it,  the  old  judge  spoke  of  her  as 
"  this  marvellous  child  ?"  It  was  the  right  name,  you 
see. 

These  veterans  were  not  going  to  branch  out  and  do  things 
without  the  sanction  of  the  Maid — that  is  true  :  and  it  was  a 
great  gain.  But  at  the  same  time  there  were  some  among 
them  who  still  trembled  at  her  new  and  dashing  war-tactics 
and  earnestly  desired  to  modify  them.  And  so,  during  the 
loth,  while  Joan  was  slaving  away  at  her  plans  and  issuing 
order  after  order  with  tireless  industry,  the  old-time  consulta 
tions  and  arguings  and  speechifyings  were  going  on  among 
certain  of  the  generals. 

In  the  afternoon  of  that  clay  they  came  in  a  body  to  hold 
one  of  these  councils  of  war  ;  and  while  they  waited  for  Joan 
to  join  them  they  discussed  the  situation.  Now  this  dis 
cussion  is  not  set  down  in  the  histories  ;  but  I  was  there,  and 


229 

I  will  speak  of  it,  as  knowing  you  will  trust  me,  I  not  being 
given  to  beguiling  you  with  lies. 

Gautier  de  Brusac  was  spokesman  for  the  timid  ones ; 
Joan's  side  was  resolutely  upheld  by  D'Alengon,  the  Bastard, 
La  Hire,  the  Admiral  of  France,  the  Marshal  de  Boussac,  and 
all  the  other  really  important  chiefs. 

De  Brusac  argued  that  the  situation  was  very  grave ;  that 
Jargeau,  the  first  point  of  attack,  was  formidably  strong ;  its 
imposing  walls  bristling  with  artillery ,  with  7000  picked  Eng 
lish  veterans  behind  them,  and  at  their  head  the  great  Earl  of 
Suffolk  and  his  two  redoubtable  brothers  the  De  la  Poles. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  proposal  of  Joan  of  Arc  to  try  to 
take  such  a  place  by  storm  was  a  most  rash  and  over-daring 
idea,  and  she  ought  to  be  persuaded  to  relinquish  it  in  favor 
of  the  soberer  and  safer  procedure  of  investment  by  regular 
siege.  It  seemed  to  him  that  this  fiery  and  furious  new  fash 
ion  of  hurling  masses  of  men  against  impregnable  walls  of 
stone,  in  defiance  of  the  established  laws  and  usages  of  war, 
was — 

But  he  got  no  further.  La  Hire  gave  his  plumed  helm  an 
impatient  toss  and  burst  out  with — 

"  By  God  she  knows  her  trade,  and  none  can  teach  it  her !" 

And  before  he  could  get  out  anything  more,  D'Aleii9on  was 
on  his  feet,  and  the  Bastard  of  Orleans,  and  half  a  dozen 
others,  all  thundering  at  once,  and  pouring  out  their  indig 
nant  displeasure  upon  any  and  all  that  might  hold,  secretly 
or  publicly,  distrust  of  the  wisdom  of  the  Commander-in-Chief. 
And  when  they  had  said  their  say,  La  Hire  took  a  chance 
again,  and  said  : 

"  There  are  some  that  never  know  how  to  change.  Circum 
stances  may  change,  but  those  people  are  never  able  to  see 
that  they  have  got  to  change  too,  to  meet  those  circumstances. 
All  that  they  know  is  the  one  beaten  track  that  their  fathers 
and  grandfathers  have  followed  and  that  they  themselves 
have  followed  in  their  turn.  If  an  earthquake  come  and  rip 
the  land  to  chaos,  and  that  beaten  track  now  lead  over  prec 
ipices  and  into  morasses,  those  people  carft  learn  that  they 


must  strike  out  a  new  road — no;  they  will  march  stupidly 
along  and  follow  the  old  one  to  death  and  perdition.  Men, 
there's  a  new  state  of  things  -,  and  a  surpassing  military  gen 
ius  has  perceived  it  with  her  clear  eye.  And  a  new  road 
is  required,  and  that  same  clear  eye  has  noted  where  it  must 
go,  and  has  marked  it  out  for  us.  The  man  does  not  live, 
never  has  lived,  never  will  live,  that  can  improve  upon  it ! 
The  old  state  of  things  was  defeat,  defeat,  defeat  —  and  by 
consequence  we  had  troops  with  no  dash,  no  heart,  no  hope. 
Would  you  assault  stone  walls  with  such  ?  No — there  was  but 
one  way,  with  that  kind :  sit  down  before  a  place  and  wait, 
wait— starve  it  out,  if  you  could.  The  new  case  is  the  very 
opposite  •,  it  is  this :  men  all  on  fire  with  pluck  and  dash  and 
vim  and  fury  and  energy — a  restrained  conflagration  !  What 
would  you  do  with  it  ?  Hold  it  down  and  let  it  smoulder  and 
perish  and  go  out  ?  What  would  Joan  of  Arc  do  with  it  ? 
Turn  it  loose,  by  the  Lord  God  of  heaven  and  earth,  and  let  it 
swallow  up  the  foe  in  the  whirlwind  of  its  fires!  Nothing 
shows  the  splendor  and  wisdom  of  her  military  genius  like 
her  instant  comprehension  of  the  size  of  the  change  which 
has  come  about,  and  her  instant  perception  of  the  right  and 
only  right  way  to  take  advantage  of  it.  With  her  is  no  sitting 
down  and  starving  out ;  no  dilly-dallying  and  fooling  around  ; 
no  lazying,  loafing,  and  going  to  sleep;  no,  it  is  storm! 
storm !  storm  !  and  still  storm  !  storm  !  storm  !  and  forever 
storm  !  storm  !  storm !  hunt  the  enemy  to  his  hole,  then  turn 
her  French  hurricanes  loose  and  carry  him  by  storm  !  And 
that  is  my  sort !  Jargeau  ?  What  of  Jargeau,  with  its  battle 
ments  and  towers,  its  devastating  artillery,  its  seven  thousand 
picked  veterans  ?  Joan  of  Arc  is  to  the  fore,  and  by  the 
splendor  of  God  its  fate  is  sealed  !" 

Oh,  he  carried  them.  There  was  not  another  word  said 
about  persuading  Joan  to  change  her  tactics.  They  sat  talk 
ing  comfortably  enough  after  that. 

By-and-by  Joan  entered,  and  they  rose  and  saluted  with 
their  swords,  and  she  asked  what  their  pleasure  might  be.  La 
Hire  said  : 


THE  CAPTURE    OF   THE   TOURELLES 


231 

"  It  is  settled,  my  General.  The  matter  concerned  Jar- 
geau.  There  were  some  who  thought  we  could  not  take  the 
place." 

Joan  laughed  her  pleasant  laugh;  her  merry,  care -free 
laugh ;  the  laugh  that  rippled  so  buoyantly  from  her  lips  and 
made  old  people  feel  young  again  to  hear  it ;  and  she  said  to 
the  company — 

"  Have  no  fears — indeed  there  is  no  need  nor  any  occasion 
for  them.  We  will  strike  the  English  boldly  by  assault,  and 
you  will  see."  Then  a  far-away  look  came  into  her  eyes,  and 
I  think  that  a  picture  of  her  home  drifted  across  the  vision 
of  her  mind;  for  she  said  very  gently,  and  as  one  who  muses, 
"  But  that  I  know  God  guides  us  and  will  give  us  success, 
I  had  liefer  keep  sheep  than  endure  these  perils." 

We  had  a  homelike  farewell  supper  that  evening — just  the 
personal  staff  and  the  family.  Joan  had  to  miss  it;  for  the 
city  had  given  a  banquet  in  her  honor,  and  she  had  gone 
there  in  state  with  the  Grand  Staff,  through  a  riot  of  joy-bells 
and  a  sparkling  Milky  Way  of  illuminations. 

After  supper  some  lively  young  folk  whom  we  knew  came 
in,  and  we  presently  forgot  that  we  were  soldiers,  and  only  re 
membered  that  we  were  boys  and  girls  and  full  of  animal  spir 
its  and  long-pent  fun;  and  so  there  was  dancing,  and  games, 
and  romps,  and  screams  of  laughter — just  as  extravagant  and 
innocent  and  noisy  a  good  time  as  ever  I  had  in  my  life. 
Dear,  dear,  how  long  ago  it  was  ! — and  I  was  young  then. 
And  outside,  all  the  while,  was  the  measured  tramp  of  march 
ing  battalions,  belated  odds  and  ends  of  the  French  power 
gathering  for  the  morrow's  tragedy  on  the  grim  stage  of  war. 
Yes,  in  those  days  we  had  those  contrasts  side  by  side.  And 
as  I  passed  along  to  bed  there  was  another  one :  the  big 
Dwarf,  in  brave  new  armor,  sat  sentry  at  Joan's  door — the 
stern  Spirit  of  War  made  flesh,  as  it  were — and  on  his  ample 
shoulder  was  curled  a  kitten  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

WE  made  a  gallant  show  next  day  when  we  filed  out 
through  the  frowning  gates  of  Orleans,  with  banners  flying 
and  Joan  and  the  Grand  Staff  in  the  van  of  the  long  column. 
Those  two  young  De  Lavals  were  come,  now,  and  were  joined 
to  the  Grand  Staff.  Which  was  well ;  war  being  their  proper 
trade,  for  they  were  grandsons  of  that  illustrious  fighter  Ber- 
trand  du  Guesclin,  Constable  of  France  in  earlier  days.  Louis 
de  Bourbon,  the  Marshal  de  Rais,  and  the  Vidame  de  Chartres 
were  added  also.  We  had  a  right  to  feel  a  little  uneasy,  for 
we  knew  that  a  force  of  five  thousand  men  was  on  its  way  un 
der  Sir  John  Fastolfe  to  reinforce  Jargeau,  but  I  think  we  were 
not  uneasy,  nevertheless.  In  truth  that  force  was  not  yet  in 
our  neighborhood.  Sir  John  was  loitering ;  for  some  reason 
or  other  he  was  not  hurrying.  He  was  losing  precious  time 
— four  days  at  Etampes,  and  four  more  at  Janville. 

We  reached  Jargeau  and  began  business  at  once.  Joan 
sent  forward  a  heavy  force  which  hurled  itself  against  the  out 
works  in  handsome  style,  and  gained  a  footing  and  fought 
hard  to  keep  it ;  but  it  presently  began  to  fall  back  before  a 
sortie  from  the  city.  Seeing  this,  Joan  raised  her  battle-cry 
and  led  a  new  assault  herself  under  a  furious  artillery  fire. 
The  Paladin  was  struck  down  at  her  side,  wounded,  but  she 
snatched  her  standard  from  his  failing  hand  and  plunged  on 
through  the  ruck  of  flying  missiles,  cheering  her  men  with  en 
couraging  cries,  and  then  for  a  good  time  one  had  turmoil, 
and  clash  of  steel,  and  collision  and  confusion  of  struggling 
multitudes,  and  the  hoarse  bellowing  of  the  guns ;  and  then 
the  hiding  of  it  all  under  a  rolling  firmament  of  smoke  ;  a 
firmament  through  which  veiled  vacancies  appeared  for  a  mo- 


233 

ment  now  and  then,  giving  fitful  dim  glimpses  of  the  wild 
tragedy  enacting  beyond  ;  and  always  at  these  times  one 
caught  sight  of  that  slight  figure  in  white  mail  which  was  the 
centre  and  soul  of  our  hope  and  trust,  and  whenever  we  saw 
that,  with  its  back  to  us  and  its  face  to  the  fight,  we  knew  that 
all  was  well.  At  last  a  great  shout  went  up — a  joyous  roar  of 
shoutings,  in  fact — and  that  was  sign  sufficient  that  the  fau 
bourgs  were  ours. 

Yes,  they  were  ours  ;  the  enemy  had  been  driven  back  with 
in  the  walls.  On  the  ground  which  Joan  had  won,  we  camped  ; 
for  night  was  coming  on. 

Joan  sent  a  summons  to  the  English,  promising  that  if  they 
surrendered  she  would  allow  them  to  go  in  peace  and  take 
their  horses  with  them.  Nobody  knew  that  she  could  take 
that  strong  place,  but  she  knew  it — knew  it  well ;  yet  she  of 
fered  that  grace — offered  it  in  a  time  when  such  a  thing  was 
unknown  in  war ;  in  a  time  when  it  was  custom  and  usage  to 
massacre  the  garrison  and  the  inhabitants  of  captured  cities 
without  pity  or  compunction — yes,  even  to  the  harmless  worn- 
en  and  children  sometimes.  There  are  neighbors  all  about 
you  who  well  remember  the  unspeakable  atrocities  which 
Charles  the  Bold  inflicted  upon  the  men  and  women  and 
children  of  Dinant  when  he  took  that  place  some  years  ago. 
It  was  a  unique  and  kindly  grace  which  Joan  offered  that  gar 
rison  ;  but  that  was  her  way,  that  was  her  loving  and  merci 
ful  nature— she  always  did  her  best  to  save  her  enemy's  life 
and  his  soldierly  pride  when  she  had  the  mastery  of  him. 

The  English  asked  fifteen  clays'  armistice  to  consider  the 
proposal  in.  And  Fastolfe  coming  with  five  thousand  men  ! 
Joan  said  no.  But  she  offered  another  grace  :  they  might 
take  both  their  horses  and  their  side-arms—but  they  must  go 
within  the  hour. 

Well,  those  bronzed  English  veterans  were  pretty  hard- 
headed  folk.  They  declined  again.  Then  Joan  gave  com 
mand  that  her  army  be  made  ready  to  move  to  the  assault  at 
nine  in  the  morning.  Considering  the  deal  of  marching  and 
fighting  which  the  men  had  done  that  day,  D'Alengon  thought 


234 

the  hour  rather  early ;  but  Joan  said  it  was  best  so,  and  so 
must  be  obeyed.  Then  she  burst  out  with  one  of  those  en 
thusiasms  which  were  always  burning  in  her  when  battle  was 
imminent,  and  said : 

"  Work  !  work  !  and  God  will  work  with  us  !" 

Yes,  one  might  say  that  her  motto  was  "  Work  !  stick  to  it ; 
keep  on  working !"  for  in  war  she  never  knew  what  indolence 
was.  And  whoever  will  take  that  motto  and  live  by  it  will  be 
likely  to  succeed.  There's  many  a  way  to  win,  in  this  world, 
but  none  of  them  is  worth  much  without  good  hard  work  back 
of  it. 

I  think  we  should  have  lost  our  big  Standard-Bearer  that 
day,  if  our  bigger  Dwarf  had  not  been  at  hand  to  bring  him 
out  of  the  melee  when  he  was  wounded.  He  was  uncon 
scious,  and  would  have  been  trampled  to  death  by  our  own 
horse,  if  the  Dwarf  had  not  promptly  rescued  him  and  haled 
him  to  the  rear  and  safety.  He  recovered,  and  was  himself 
again  after  two  or  three  hours ;  and  then  he  was  happy  and 
proud,  and  made  the  most  of  his  wound,  and  went  swagger 
ing  around  in  his  bandages  showing  off  like  an  innocent  big 
child — which  was  just  what  he  was.  He  was  prouder  of  be 
ing  wounded  than  a  really  modest  person  would  be  of  being 
killed.  But  there  was  no  harm  in  his  vanity,  and  nobody 
minded  it.  He  said  he  was  hit  by  a  stone  from  a  catapult — 
a  stone  the  size  of  a  man's  head.  But  the  stone  grew,  of 
course.  Before  he  got  through  with  it  he  was  claiming  that 
the  enemy  had  flung  a  building  at  him. 

"Let  him  alone,"  said  Noel  Rainguesson.  "  Don't  interrupt 
his  processes.  To-morrow  it  will  be  a  cathedral." 

He  said  that  privately.  And,  sure  enough,  to-morrow  it 
was  a  cathedral.  I  never  saw  anybody  with  such  an  aban 
doned  imagination. 

Joan  was  abroad  at  the  crack  of  dawn,  galloping  here  and 
there  and  yonder,  examining  the  situation  minutely,  and  choos 
ing  what  she  considered  the  most  effective  positions  for  her 
artillery ;  and  with  such  accurate  judgment  did  she  place  her 


235 

guns  that  her  Lieutenant-General's  admiration  of  it  still  sur 
vived  in  his  memory  when  his  testimony  was  taken  at  the  Re 
habilitation,  a  quarter  of  a  century  later. 

In  this  testimony  the  Duke  d'Alengon  said  that  at  Jargeau 
that  morning  of  the  i2th  of  June  she  made  her  dispositions 
not  like  a  novice,  but  "  with  the  sure  and  clear  judgment  of  a 
trained  general  of  twenty  or  thirty  years'  experience." 

The  veteran  captains  of  the  armies  of  France  said  she  was 
great  in  war  in  all  ways,  but  greatest  of  all  in  her  genius  for 
posting  and  handling  artillery. 

Who  taught  the  shepherd  girl  to  do  these  marvels  —  she 
who  could  not  read,  and  had  had  no  opportunity  to  study  the 
complex  arts  of  war  ?  I  do  not  know  any  way  to  solve  such 
a  baffling  riddle  as  that,  there  being  no  precedent  for  it,  noth 
ing  in  history  to  compare  it  with  and  examine  it  by.  For  in 
history  there  is  no  great  general,  however  gifted,  who  arrived 
at  success  otherwise  than  through  able  teaching  and  hard 
study  and  some  experience.  It  is  a  riddle  which  will  never 
be  guessed.  I  think  these  vast  powers  and  capacities  were 
born  in  her,  and  that  she  applied  them  by  an  intuition  which 
could  not  err. 

At  eight  o'clock  all  movement  ceased,  and  with  it  all  sounds, 
all  noise.  A  mute  expectancy  reigned.  The  stillness  was 
something  awful — because  it  meant  so  much.  There  was  no 
air  stirring.  The  flags  on  the  towers  and  ramparts  hung 
straight  down  like  tassels.  Wherever  one  saw  a  person, 
that  person  had  stopped  what  he  was  doing,  and  was  in  a 
waiting  attitude,  a  listening  attitude.  We  were  on  a  com 
manding  spot,  clustered  around  Joan.  Not  far  from  us,  on 
every  hand,  were  the  lanes  and  humble  dwellings  of  these  out 
lying  suburbs.  Many  people  were  visible — all  were  listening, 
not  one  was  moving.  A  man  had  placed  a  nail ;  he  was 
about  to  fasten  something  with  it  to  the  door-post  of  his  shop 
— but  he  had  stopped.  There  was  his  hand  reaching  up 
holding  the  nail;  and  there  was  his  other  hand  in  the  act  of 
striking  with  the  hammer ;  but  he  had  forgotten  everything — 
his  head  was  turned  aside,  listening.  Even  children  uncon- 


236 

sciously  stopped  in  their  play ;  I  saw  a  little  boy  with  his 
hoop-stick  pointed  slanting  toward  the  ground  in  the  act  of 
steering  the  hoop  around  the  corner;  and  so  he  had  stopped 
and  was  listening — the  hoop  was  rolling  away,  doing  its  own 
steering.  I  saw  a  young  girl  prettily  framed  in  an  open  win 
dow,  a  watering-pot  in  her  hand  and  window -boxes  of  red 
flowers  under  its  spout  —  but  the  water  had  ceased  to  flow ; 
the  girl  was  listening.  Everywhere  were  these  impressive 
petrified  forms  -,  and  everywhere  was  suspended  movement 
and  that  awful  stillness. 

Joan  of  Arc  raised  her  sword  in  the  air.  At  the  signal,  the 
silence  was  torn  to  rags  :  cannon  after  cannon  vomited  flames 
and  smoke  and  delivered  its  quaking  thunders  ;  and  we  saw 
answering  tongues  of  fire  dart  from  the  towers  and  walls  of 
the  city,  accompanied  by  answering  deep  thunders,  and  in  a 
minute  the  walls  and  the  towers  disappeared,  and  in  their 
place  stood  vast  banks  and  pyramids  of  snowy  smoke,  mo 
tionless  in  the  dead  air.  The  startled  girl  dropped  her  water 
ing-pot  and  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  at  that  moment 
a  stone  cannon-ball  crashed  through  her  fair  body. 

The  great  artillery  duel  went  on,  each  side  hammering 
away  with  all  its  might ;  and  it  was  splendid  for  smoke  and 
noise,  and  most  exalting  to  one's  spirits.  The  poor  little 
town  around  about  us  suffered  cruelly.  The  cannon-balls 
tore  through  its  slight  buildings,  wrecking  them  as  if  they  had 
been  built  of  cards  •  and  every  moment  or  two  one  would  see 
a  huge  rock  come  curving  through  the  upper  air  above  the 
smoke  clouds  and  go  plunging  down  through  the  roofs. 
Fire  broke  out,  and  columns  of  flame  and  smoke  rose  tow 
ard  the  sky. 

Presently  the  artillery  concussions  changed  the  weather. 
The  sky  became  overcast,  and  a  strong  wind  rose  and  blew 
away  the  smoke  that  hid  the  English  fortresses. 

Then  the  spectacle  was  fine  :  turreted  gray  walls  and  towers, 
and  streaming  bright  flags,  and  jets  of  red  fire  and  gushes 
of  white  smoke  in  long  rows,  all  standing  out  with  sharp 
vividness  against  the  deep  leaden  background  of  the  sky ; 


237 

and  then  the  whizzing  missiles  began  to  knock  up  the  dirt  all 
around  us,  and  I  felt  no  more  interest  in  the  scenery.  There 
was  one  English  gun  that  was  getting  our  position  down  finer 
and  finer  all  the  time.  Presently  Joan  pointed  to  it  and  said: 

"  Fair  Duke,  step  out  of  your  tracks,  or  that  machine  will 
kill  you." 

The  Duke  d'Alen^on  did  as  he  was  bid ,  but  Monsieur  du 
Lude  rashly  took  his  place,  and  that  cannon  tore  his  head 
off  in  a  moment. 

Joan  was  watching  all  along  for  the  right  time  to  order  the 
assault.  At  last,  about  nine  o'clock,  she  cried  out — 

"  Now — to  the  assault  !"  and  the  buglers  blew  the  charge. 

Instantly  we  saw  the  body  of  men  that  had  been  appointed 
to  this  service  move  forward  toward  a  point  where  the  con 
centrated  fire  of  our  guns  had  crumbled  the  upper  half  of  a 
broad  stretch  of  wall  to  ruins;  we  saw  this  force  descend  into 
the  ditch  and  begin  to  plant  the  scaling-ladders.  We  were 
soon  with  them.  The  Lieutenant  -  General  thought  the  as 
sault  premature.  But  Joan  said  : 

"  Ah,  gentle  Duke,  are  you  afraid  ?  Do  you  not  know  that 
I  have  promised  to  send  you  home  safe  ?" 

It  was  warm  work  in  the  ditches.  The  walls  were  crowded 
with  men,  and  they  poured  avalanches  of  stones  down  upon 
us.  There  was  one  gigantic  Englishman  who  did  us  more 
hurt  than  any  dozen  of  his  brethren.  He  always  dominated 
the  places  easiest  of  assault,  and  flung  down  exceedingly 
troublesome  big  stones  which  smashed  men  and  ladders  both 
— then  he  would  near  burst  himself  with  laughing  over  what 
he  had  done.  But  the  Duke  settled  accounts  with  him.  He 
went  and  found  the  famous  cannoneer  Jean  le  Lorrain,  and 
said — 

"  Train  your  gun — kill  me  this  demon." 

He  did  it  with  the  first  shot.  He  hit  the  Englishman  fair 
in  the  breast  and  knocked  him  backwards  into  the  city. 

The  enemy's  resistance  was  so  effective  and  so  stubborn 
that  our  people  began  to  show  signs  of  doubt  and  dismay. 
Seeing  this,  Joan  raised  her  inspiring  battle-cry  and  descend- 


ed  into  the  fosse  herself,  the  Dwarf  helping  her  and  the  Pal 
adin  sticking  bravely  at  her  side  with  the  standard.  She 
started  up  a  scaling-ladder,  but  a  great  stone  flung  from 
above  came  crashing  down  upon  her  helmet  and  stretched 
her,  wounded  and  stunned,  upon  the  ground.  But  only  for  a 
moment.  The  Dwarf  stood  her  upon  her  feet,  and  straight 
way  she  started  up  the  ladder  again,  crying — 

"To  the  assault,  friends,  to  the  assault — the  English  are 
ours  !  It  is  the  appointed  hour  !" 

There  was  a  grand  rush,  and  a  fierce  roar  of  war-cries,  and 
we  swarmed  over  the  ramparts  like  ants.  The  garrison  fled, 
we  pursued  -,  Jargeau  was  ours  ! 

The  Earl  of  Suffolk  was  hemmed  in  and  surrounded,  and 
the  Duke  d'Alengon  and  the  Bastard  of  Orleans  demanded 
that  he  surrender  himself.  But  he  was  a  proud  nobleman 
and  came  of  a  proud  race.  He  refused  to  yield  his  sword  to 
subordinates,  saying — 

"  I  will  die  rather.  I  will  surrender  to  the  Maid  of  Orleans 
alone,  and  to  no  other." 

And  so  he  did ;  and  was  courteously  and  honorably  used 
by  her. 

His  two  brothers  retreated,  fighting  step  by  step,  toward 
the  bridge,  we  pressing  their  despairing  forces  and  cutting 
them  down  by  scores.  Arrived  on  the  bridge,  the  slaughter 
still  continued.  Alexander  de  la  Pole  was  pushed  overboard 
or  fell  over,  and  was  drowned.  Eleven  hundred  men  had 
fallen;  John  de  la  Pole  decided  to  give  up  the  struggle.  But 
he  was  nearly  as  proud  and  particular  as  his  brother  of  Suf 
folk  as  to  whom  he  would  surrender  to.  The  French  officer 
nearest  at  hand  was  Guillaume  Renault,  who  was  pressing 
him  closely.  Sir  John  said  to  him— 

"  Are  you  a  gentleman  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  a  knight  ?" 

"No." 

Then  Sir  John  knighted  him  himself,  there  on  the  bridge, 
giving  him  the  accolade  with  English  coolness  and  tranquillity 


239 

in  the  midst  of  that  storm  of  slaughter  and  mutilation  ;  and 
then  bowing  with  high  courtesy  took  the  sword  by  the  blade 
and  laid  the  hilt  of  it  in  the  man's  hand  in  token  of  surrender. 
Ah,  yes,  a  proud  tribe,  those  De  la  Poles. 

It  was  a  grand  day,  a  memorable  day,  a  most  splendid  vic 
tory.  We  had  a  crowd  of  prisoners,  but  Joan  would  not 
allow  them  to  be  hurt.  We  took  them  with  us  and  marched 
into  Orleans  next  day  through  the  usual  tempest  of  welcome 
and  joy. 

And  this  time  there  was  a  new  tribute  to  our  leader.  From 
everywhere  in  the  packed  streets  the  new  recruits  squeezed 
their  way  to  her  side  to  touch  the  sword  of  Joan  of  Arc  and 
draw  from  it  somewhat  of  that  mysterious  quality  which  made 
it  invincible. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  troops  must  have  a  rest.  Two  days  would  be  allowed 
for  this. 

The  morning  of  the  i4th  I  was  writing  from  Joan's  dicta 
tion  in  a  small  room  which  she  sometimes  used  as  a  private 
office  when  she  wanted  to  get  away  from  officials  and  their 
interruptions.  Catherine  Boucher  came  in  and  sat  down  and 
said — 

"Joan,  dear,  I  want  you  to  talk  to  me." 

"Indeed  I  am  not  sorry  for  that,  but  glad.  What  is  in 
your  mind  ?" 

"  This.  I  scarcely  slept,  last  night,  for  thinking  of  the  dan 
gers  you  are  running.  The  Paladin  told  me  how  you  made 
the  Duke  stand  out  of  the  way  when  the  cannon-balls  were 
flying  all  about,  and  so  saved  his  life." 

"Well,  that  was  right,  wasn't  it?" 

"Right?  Yes;  but  you  stayed  there  yourself.  Why  will 
you  do  like  that?  It  seems  such  a  wanton  risk." 

"Oh,  no,  it  was  not  so.     I  was  not  in  any  danger." 

"  How  can  you  say  that,  Joan,  with  those  deadly  things  fly 
ing  all  about  you  ?" 

Joan  laughed,  and  tried  to  turn  the  subject,  but  Catherine 
persisted.  She  said— 

"  It  was  horribly  dangerous,  and  it  could  not  be  necessary 
to  stay  in  such  a  place.  And  you  led  an  assault  again.  Joan, 
it  is  tempting  Providence.  I  want  you  to  make  me  a  prom 
ise.  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  you  will  let  others  lead 
the  assaults,  if  there  must  be  assaults,  and  that  you  will  take 
better  care  of  yourself  in  those  dreadful  battles.  Will  you?" 

But  Joan  fought  away  from  the  promise  and  did  not  give 


241 


it.  Catherine  sat  troubled  and  discontented  awhile,  then 
she  said — 

"  Joan,  are  you  going  to  be  a  soldier  always  ?  These  wars 
are  so  long — so  long.  They  last  forever  and  ever  and  ever." 

There  was  a  glad  flash  in  Joan's  eye  as  she  cried — 

"  This  campaign  will  do  all  the  really  hard  work  that  is  in 
front  of  it  in  the  next  four  days.  The  rest  of  it  will  be  gen 
tler — oh,  far  less  bloody.  Yes,  in  four  days  France  will  gather 
another  trophy  like  the  redemption  of  Orleans  and  make  her 
second  long  step  toward  freedom  !" 

Catherine  started  (and  so  did  I);  then  she  gazed  long  at 
Joan  like  one  in  a  trance,  murmuring  "  four  clays — four  days," 
as  if  to  herself  and  unconsciously.  Finally  she  asked,  in  a 
low  voice  that  had  something  of  awe  in  it : 

"  Joan,  tell  me — how  is  it  that  you  know  that  ?  For  you  do 
know  it,  I  think." 

"Yes,"  said  Joan,  dreamily,"!  know  —  I  know.  I  shall 
strike — and  strike  again.  And  before  the  fourth  day  is  fin 
ished  I  shall  strike  yet  again."  She  became  silent.  We  sat 
wondering  and  still.  This  was  for  a  whole  minute,  she  look 
ing  at  the  floor  and  her  lips  moving  but  uttering  nothing. 
Then  came  these  words,  but  hardly  audible  :  "  And  in  a  thou 
sand  years  the  English  power  in  France  will  not  rise  up  from 
that  blow." 

It  made  my  flesh  creep.  It  was  uncanny.  She  was  in  a 
trance  again — I  could  see  it — just  as  she  was  that  day  in  the 
pastures  of  Domremy  when  she  prophesied  about  us  boys  in 
the  war  and  afterward  did  not  know  that  she  had  done  it. 
She  was  not  conscious  now  ;  but  Catherine  did  not  know  that, 
and  so  she  said,  in  a  happy  voice — 

"  Oh,  I  believe  it,  I  believe  it,  and  I  am  so  glad !  Then 
you  will  come  back  and  bide  with  us  all  your  life  long,  and 
we  will  love  you  so,  and  so  honor  you !" 

A  scarcely  perceptible  spasm  flitted  across  Joan's  face,  and 
the  dreamy  voice  muttered — 

"  Before  two  years  are  sped  I  shall  die  a  cruel  death !" 

I  sprang  forward  with  a  warning  hand  up.     That  is  why 


242 


Catherine  did  not  scream.  She  was  going  to  do  that — I  saw 
it  plainly.  Then  I  whispered  her  to  slip  out  of  the  place,  and 
say  nothing  of  what  had  happened.  I  said  Joan  was  asleep — 
asleep  and  dreaming.  Catherine  whispered  back,  and  said— 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  grateful  that  it  is  only  a  dream  !  It  sounded 
like  prophecy."  And  she  was  gone. 

Like  prophecy !  I  knew  it  was  prophecy  ;  and  I  sat  down 
crying,  as  knowing  we  should  lose  her.  Soon  she  started, 
shivering  slightly,  and  came  to  herself,  and  looked  around 
and  saw  me  crying  there,  and  jumped  out  of  her  chair  and 
ran  to  me  all  in  a  whirl  of  sympathy  and  compassion,  and  put 
her  hand  on  my  head,  and  said  — 

"  My  poor  boy  !     What  is  it  ?     Look  up,  and  tell  me." 

I  had  to  tell  her  a  lie ;  I  grieved  to  clo  it,  but  there  was  no 
other  way.  I  picked  up  an  old  letter  from  my  table,  written 
by  Heaven  knows  who,  about  some  matter  Heaven  knows 
what,  and  told  her  I  had  just  gotten  it  from  Pere  Fronte,  and 
that  in  it  it  said  the  children's  Fairy  Tree  had  been  chopped 
down  by  some  miscreant  or  other,  and  — 

I  got  no  further.  She  snatched  the  letter  from  my  hand 
and  searched  it  up  and  down  and  all  over,  turning  it  this  way 
and  that,  and  sobbing  great  sobs,  and  the  tears  flowing  down 
her  cheeks,  and  ejaculating  all  the  time,  "Oh,  cruel,  cruel! 
how  could  any  be  so  heartless  ?  Ah,  poor  Arbre  Fe'e  de 
Bourlemont  gone — and  we  children  loved  it  so !  Show  me 
the  place  where  it  says  it !" 

And  I,  still  lying,  showed  her  the  pretended  fatal  words 
on  the  pretended  fatal  page,  and  she  gazed  at  them  through 
her  tears,  and  said  she  could  see,  herself,  that  they  were  hate 
ful,  ugly  words — they  "had  the  very  look  of  it." 

Then  we  heard  a  strong  voice  down  the  corridor  announ 
cing— 

"His  Majesty's  messenger  —  with  despatches  for  her  Ex 
cellency  the  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  armies  of  France  !" 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

/  knew  she  had  seen  the  vision  of  the  Tree.  But  when  ?  I 
could  not  know.  Doubtless  before  she  had  lately  told  the 
King  to  use  her,  for  that  she  had  but  one  year  left  to  work 
in.  It  had  not  occurred  to  me  at  the  time,  but  the  conviction 
came  upon  me  now  that  at  that  time  she  had  already  seen  the 
Tree.  It  had  brought  her  a  welcome  message ;  that  was 
plain,  otherwise  she  could  not  have  been  so  joyous  and  light- 
hearted  as  she  had  been  these  fatter  days.  The  death-warn 
ing  had  nothing  dismal  about  it  for  her;  no,  it  was  remission 
of  ejdle,  it  was  leave  to  come  home. 

Yes,  she  had  seen  the  Tree.  No  one  had  taken  the  proph 
ecy  to  heart  which  she  made  to  the  King;  and  for  a  good 
reason,  no  doubt :  no  one  wanted  to  take  it  to  heart ;  all 
wanted  to  banish  it  away  and  forget  it.  And  all  had  suc 
ceeded,  and  would  go  on  to  the  end  placid  and  comfortable. 
All  but  me  alone.  I  must  carry  my  awful  secret  without  any 
to  help  me.  A  heavy  load,  a  bitter  burden ;  and  would  cost 
me  a  daily  heart-break.  She  was  to  die  ;  and  so  soon.  I  had 
never  dreamed  of  that.  How  could  I,  and  she  so  strong  and 
fresh  and  young,  and  every  day  earning  a  new  right  to  a 
peaceful  and  honored  old  age  ?  For  at  that  time  I  thought 
old  age  valuable.  I  do  not  know  why,  but  I  thought  so. 
All  young  people  think  it,  I  believe,  they  being  ignorant  and 
full  of  superstitions.  She  had  seen  the  Tree.  All  that  mis 
erable  night  those  ancient  verses  went  floating  back  and 
forth  through  my  brain  : 

"And  when  in  exile  wand'ring  we 
Shall  fainting  yearn  for  glimpse  of  thee, 
O  rise  upon  our  sight  !" 


244 


But  at  dawn  the  bugles  and  the  drums  burst  through  the 
dreamy  hush  of  the  morning,  and  it  was  turn  out  all !  mount 
and  ride.  For  there  was  red  work  to  be  done. 

We  marched  to  Meung  without  halting.  There  we  carried 
the  bridge  by  assault,  and  left  a  force  to  hold  it,  the  rest  of 
the  army  marching  away  next  morning  toward  Beaugency, 
where  the  lion  Talbot,  the  terror  of  the  French,  was  in  com 
mand.  When  we  arrived  at  that  place,  the  English  retired 
into  the  castle  and  we  sat  down  in  the  abandoned  town. 

Talbot  was  not  at  the  moment  present  in  person,  for  he 
had  gone  away  to  watch  for  and  welcome  Fastolfe  and  his 
re-enforcement  of  five  thousand  men. 

Joan  placed  her  batteries  and  bombarded  the  castle  till 
night.  Then  some  news  came:  Richemont,  Constable  of 
France,  this  long  time  in  disgrace  with  the  King,  largely  be 
cause  of  the  evil  machinations  of  La  Tremouille  and  his  party, 
was  approaching  with  a  large  body  of  men  to  offer  his  ser 
vices  to  Joan  —  and  very  much  she  needed  them,  now  that 
Fastolfe  was  so  close  by.  Richemont  had  wanted  to  join  us 
before,  when  we  first  marched  on  Orleans  -,  but  the  foolish 
King,  slave  of  those  paltry  advisers  of  his,  warned  him  to  keep 
his  distance  and  refused  all  reconciliation  with  him. 

I  go  into  these  details  because  they  are  important.  Im 
portant  because  they  lead  up  to  the  exhibition  of  a  new  gift 
in  Joan's  extraordinary  mental  make-up — statesmanship.  It 
is  a  sufficiently  strange  thing  to  find  that  great  quality  in  an 
I  ignorant  country  girl  of  seventeen  and  a  half,  but  she  had  it. 

Joan  was  for  receiving  Richemont  cordially,  and  so  was  La 
Hire  and  the  two  young  Lavals  and  other  chiefs,  but  the 
Lieutenant-General,  D'Alen^on,  strenuously  and  stubbornly 
opposed  it.  He  said  he  had  absolute  orders  from  the  King 
to  deny  and  defy  Richemont,  and  that  if  they  were  overridden 
he  would  leave  the  army.  This  would  have  been  a  heavy  dis 
aster  indeed.  But  Joan  set  herself  the  task  of  persuading  him 
that  the  salvation  of  France  took  precedence  of  all  minor 
things — even  the  commands  of  a  sceptred  ass ;  and  she  ac 
complished  it.  She  persuaded  him  to  disobey  the  King  in 


the  interest  of  the  nation,  and  to  be  reconciled  to  Count 
Richemont  and  welcome  him.  That  was  statesmanship;  and 
of  the  highest  and  soundest  sort.  Whatever  thing  men  call 
great,  look  for  it  in  Joan  of  Arc,  and  there  you  will  find  it. 

In  the  early  morning,  June  lyth,  the  scouts  reported  the 
approach  of  Talbot  and  Fastolfe  with  Fastolfe's  succoring 
force.  Then  the  drums  beat  to  arms ;  and  we  set  forth  to 
meet  the  English,  leaving  Richemont  and  his  troops  behind 
to  watch  the  castle  of  Beaugency  and  keep  its  garrison  at 
home.  By-and-by  we  came  in  sight  of  the  enemy.  Fastolfe 
had  tried  to  convince  Talbot  that  it  would  be  wisest  to  re 
treat  and  not  risk  a  battle  with  Joan  at  this  time,  but  dis 
tribute  the  new  levies  among  the  English  strongholds  of 
the  Loire,  thus  securing  them  against  capture ;  then  be  pa 
tient  and  wait — wait  for  more  levies  from  Paris  ;  let  Joan  ex 
haust  her  army  with  fruitless  daily  skirmishing ;  then  at  the 
right  time  fall  upon  her  in  resistless  mass  and  annihilate  her. 
He  was  a  wise  old  experienced  general,  was  Fastolfe.  But 
that  fierce  Talbot  would  hear  of  no  delay.  He  was  in  a  rage 
over  the  punishment  which  the  Maid  had  inflicted  upon  him 
at  Orleans  and  since,  and  he  swore  by  God  and  Saint  George 
that  he  would  have  it  out  with  her  if  he  had  to  fight  her  all 
alone.  So  Fastolfe  yielded,  though  he  said  they  were  now 
risking  the  loss  of  everything  which  the  English  had  gained 
by  so  many  years'  work  and  so  many  hard  knocks. 

The  enemy  had  taken  up  a  strong  position,  and  were  waiting, 
in  order  of  battle,  with  their  archers  to  the  front  and  a  stock 
ade  before  them. 

Night  was  coming  on.  A  messenger  came  from  the  Eng 
lish  with  a  rude  defiance  and  an  offer  of  battle.  But  Joan's 
dignity  was  not  ruffled,  her  bearing  was  not  discomposed.  She 
said  to  the  herald — 

"  Go  back  and  say  it  is  too  late  to  meet  to-night ;  but  to 
morrow,  please  God  and  our  Lady,  we  will  come  to  close 
quarters." 

The  night  fell  dark  and  rainy.  It  was  that  sort  of  light 
steady  rain  which  falls  so  softly  and  brings  to  one's  spirit 


246 


such  serenity  and  peace.  About  ten  o'clock  D'Alengon,  the 
Bastard  of  Orleans,  La  Hire,  Pothon  of  Saintrailles,  and  two 
or  three  other  generals  came  to  our  headquarters  tent,  and 
sat  down  to  discuss  matters  with  Joan.  Some  thought  it  was 
a  pity  that  Joan  had  declined  battle,  some  thought  not.  Then 
Pothon  asked  her  why  she  had  declined  it.  She  said — 

"  There-  was  more  than  one  reason.  These  English  are 
ours — they  cannot  get  away  from  us.  Wherefore  there  is  no 
need  to  take  risks,  as  at  other  times.  The  day  was  far  spent. 
It  is  good  to  have  much  time  and  the  fair  light  of  day  when 
one's  force  is  in  a  weakened  state — nine  hundred  of  us  yonder 
keeping  the  bridge  of  Meung  under  the  Marshal  de  Rais,  fif 
teen  hundred  with  the  Constable  of  France  keeping  the  bridge 
and  watching  the  castle  of  Beaugency." 

Dunois  said — 

"  I  grieve  for  this  depletion,  Excellency,  but  it  cannot  be 
helped.  And  the  case  will  be  the  same  the  morrow,  as  to 
that." 

Joan  was  walking  up  and  down,  just  then.  She  laughed 
her  affectionate,  comrady  laugh,  and  stopping  before  that  old 
war-tiger  she  put  her  small  hand  above  his  head  and  touched 
one  of  his  plumes,  saying— 

"  Now  tell  me,  wise  man,  which  feather  is  it  that  I  touch  ?" 

"  In  sooth,  Excellency,  that  I  cannot." 

"Name  of  God,  Bastard,  Bastard!  you  cannot  tell  me  this 
small  thing,  yet  are  bold  to  name  a  large  one — telling  us  what 
is  in  the  stomach  of  the  unborn  morrow :  that  we  shall  not 
have  those  men.  Now  it  is  my  thought  that  they  will  be  with 
us." 

That  made  a  stir.  All  wanted  to  know  why  she  thought 
that.  But  La  Hire  took  the  word  and  said — 

"Let  be.  If  she  thinks  it,  that  is  enough.  It  will  hap 
pen." 

Then  Pothon  of  Saintrailles  said — 

"There  were  other  reasons  for  declining  battle,  according 
to  the  saying  of  your  Excellency  ?" 

"  Yes.     One  was  that  we  being  weak  and  the  day  far  gone, 


247 


the  battle  might  not  be  decisive.  When  it  is  fought  it  must 
be  decisive.  And  shall  be." 

"  God  grant  it,  and  amen.    There  were  still  other  reasons  ?" 

"One  other — yes."  She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said: 
"  This  was  not  the  day.  To-morrow  is  the  day.  It  is  so 
written." 

They  were  going  to  assail  her  with  eager  questionings, 
but  she  put  up  her  hand  and  prevented  them.  Then  she 
said — 

"  It  will  be  the  most  noble  and  beneficent  victory  that  God 
has  vouchsafed  to  France  at  any  time.  I  pray  you  question 
me  not  as  to  whence  or  how  I  know  this  thing,  but  be  content 
that  it  is  so." 

There  was  pleasure  in  every  face,  and  conviction  and  high 
confidence.  A  murmur  of  conversation  broke  out,  but  was 
interrupted  by  a  messenger  from  the  outposts  who  brought 
news — namely,  that  for  an  hour  there  had  been  stir  and  move 
ment  in  the  English  camp  of  a  sort  unusual  at  such  a  time 
and  with  a  resting  army,  he  said.  Spies  had  been  sent  under 
cover  of  the  rain  and  darkness  to  inquire  into  it.  They  had 
just  come  back  and  reported  that  large  bodies  of  men  had 
been  dimly  made  out  who  were  slipping  stealthily  away  in  the 
direction  of  Meung. 

The  generals  were  very  much  surprised,  as  any  might  tell 
from  their  faces. 

"It  is  a  retreat,"  said  Joan. 

"It  has  that  look,"  said  D'Alengon. 

"  It  certainly  has,"  observed  the  Bastard  and  La  Hire. 

"•It  was  not  to  be  expected,"  said  Louis  de  Bourbon,  "  but 
one  can  divine  the  purpose  of  it." 

"Yes,"  responded  Joan.  "Talbot  has  reflected.  His 
rash  brain  has  cooled.  He  thinks  to  take  the  bridge  of 
Meung  and  escape  to  the  other  side  of  the  river.  He  knows 
that  this  leaves  his  garrison  of  Beaugency  at  the  mercy  of 
fortune,  to  escape  our  hands  if  it  can  ;  but  there  is  no  other 
course  if  he  would  avoid  this  battle,  and  that  he  also  knows. 
But  he  shall  not  get  the  bridge.  We  will  see  to  that." 


248 

"Yes,"  said  D'Alen^on,  "  we  must  follow  him,  and  take 
care  of  that  matter.  What  of  Beaugency  ?" 

"  Leave  Beaugency  to  me,  gentle  Duke ;  I  will  have  it  in 
two  hours,  and  at  no  cost  of  blood." 

"  It  is  true,  Excellency.  You  will  but  need  to  deliver  this 
news  there  and  receive  the  surrender." 

"  Yes.  And  I  will  be  with  you  at  Meung  with  the  dawn, 
fetching  the  Constable  and  his  fifteen  hundred ;  and  when 
Talbot  knows  that  Beaugency  has  fallen  it  will  have  an  effect 
upon  him." 

"By  the  mass,  yes !"  cried  La  Hire.  "He  will  join  his 
Meung  garrison  to  his  army  and  break  for  Paris.  Then  we 
shall  have  our  bridge  force  with  us  again,  along  with  our 
Beaugency-watchers,  and  be  stronger  for  our  great  day's  work 
by  four-and-twenty  hundred  able  soldiers,  as  was  here  prom 
ised  within  the  hour.  Verily  this  Englishman  is  doing  our 
errands  for  us  and  saving  us  much  blood  and  trouble.  Orders, 
Excellency — give  us  our  orders  !" 

"  They  are  simple.  Let  the  men  rest  three  hours  longer. 
At  one  o'clock  the  advance-guard  will  march,  under  your 
command,  with  Pothon  of  Saintrailles  as  second ;  the  second 
division  will  follow  at  two  under  the  Lieutenant- General. 
Keep  well  in  the  rear  of  the  enemy,  and  see  to  it  that  you 
avoid  an  engagement.  I  will  ride  under  guard  to  Beaugency 
and  make  so  quick  work  there  that  I  and  the  Constable  of 
France  will  join  you  before  dawn  with  his  men." 

She  kept  her  word.  Her  guard  mounted  and  we  rode  off 
through  the  puttering  rain,  taking  with  us  a  captured  English 
officer  to  confirm  Joan's  news.  We  soon  covered  the  journey 
and  summoned  the  castle.  Richard  Guetin,  Talbot's  lieutenant, 
being  convinced  that  he  and  fiis  five  hundred  men  were 
left  helpless,  conceded  that  it  would  be  useless  to  try  to  hold 
out.  He  could  not  expect  easy  terms,  yet  Joan  granted  them 
nevertheless.  His  garrison  could  keep  their  horses  and 
arms,  and  carry  away  property  to  the  value  of  a  silver  mark 
per  man.  They  could  go  whither  they  pleased,  but  must  not 
take  arms  against  France  again  under  ten  days. 


249 

Before  dawn  we  were  with  our  army  again,  and  with  us  the 
Constable  and  nearly  all  his  men,  for  we  left  only  a  small 
garrison  in  Beaugency  castle.  We  heard  the  dull  booming  of 
cannon  to  the  front,  and  knew  that  Talbot  was  beginning 
his  attack  on  the  bridge.  But  some  time  before  it  was  yet 
light  the  sound  ceased  and  we  heard  it  no  more. 

Gue'tin  had  sent  a  messenger  through  our  lines  under  a 
safe-conduct  given  by  Joan,  to  tell  Talbot  of  the  surrender. 
Of  course  this  poursuivant  had  arrived  ahead  of  us.  Talbot 
had  held  it  wisdom  to  turn,  now,  and  retreat  upon  Paris. 
When  daylight  came  he  had  disappeared  ;  and  with  him 
Lord  Scales  and  the  garrison  of  Meung. 

What  a  harvest  of  English  strongholds  we  had  reaped  in 
those  three  days  ! — strongholds  which  had  defied  France  with 
quite  cool  confidence  and  plenty  of  it  until  we  came. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

WHEN  the  morning  broke  at  last  on  that  forever  memorable 
i8th  of  June,  there  was  no  enemy  discoverable  anywhere,  as  I 
have  said.  But  that  did  not  trouble  me.  I  knew  we  should 
find  him,  and  that  we  should  strike  him  ;  strike  him  the  prom 
ised  blow — the  one  from  which  the  English  power  in  France 
would  not  rise  up  in  a  thousand  years,  as  Joan  had  said  in 
her  trance. 

The  enemy  had  plunged  into  the  wide  plains  of  La  Beauce 
— a  roadless  waste  covered  with  bushes,  with  here  and  there 
bodies  of  forest  trees  —  a  region  where  an  army  would  be 
hidden  from  view  in  a  very  little  while.  We  found  the  trail 
in  the  soft  wet  earth  and  followed  it.  It  indicated  an  orderly 
inarch  ;  no  confusion,  no  panic. 

But  we  had  to  be  cautious.  In  such  a  piece  of  co-untry  we 
could  walk  into  an  ambush  without  any  trouble.  Therefore 
Joan  sent  bodies  of  cavalry  ahead  under  La  Hire,  Poton,  and 
other  captains,  to  feel  the  way.  Some  of  the  other  officers 
began  to  show  uneasiness;  this  sort  of  hide-and-go-seek 
business  troubled  them  and  made  their  confidence  a  little 
shaky.  Joan  divined  their  state  of  mind  and  cried  out  im 
petuously— 

"  Name  of  God,  what  would  you  ?  We  must  smite  these 
English,  and  we  will.  They  shall  not  escape  us.  Though 
they  were  hung  to  the  clouds  we  would  get  them  !" 

By-and-by  we  were  nearing  Patay;  it  was  about  a  league 
away.  Now  at  this  time  our  reconnoisance,  feeling  its  way  in 
the  bush,  frightened  a  deer,  and  it  went  bounding  away  and 
was  out  of  sight  in  a  moment.  Then  hardly  a  minute  later 
a  dull  great  shout  went  up  in  the  distance  toward  Patay.  It 


251 

was  the  English  soldiery.  They  had  been  shut  up  in  garrison 
so  long  on  mouldy  food  that  they  could  not  keep  their  delight 
to  themselves  when  this  fine  fresh  meat  came  springing  into 
their  midst.  Poor  creature,  it  had  wrought  damage  to  a 
nation  which  loved  it  well.  For  the  French  knew  where  the 
English  were,  now,  whereas  the  English  had  no  suspicion  of 
where  the  French  were. 

La  Hire  halted  where  he  was,  and  sent  back  the  tidings. 
Joan  was  radiant  with  joy.  The  Duke  d'Alengon  said  to  her — 

"  Very  well,  we  have  found  them  ;  shall  we  fight  them  ?" 

"  Have  you  good  spurs,  Prince  ?" 

"  Why?     Will  they  make  us  run  away?" 

"  Nenni,  en  nom  de  Dieu  !  These  English  are  ours— they 
are  lost.  They  will  fly.  Who  overtakes  them  will  need  good 
spurs.  Forward — close  up  !" 

By  the  time  we  had  come  up  with  La  Hire  the  English  had 
discovered  our  presence.  Talbot's  force  was  marching  in 
three  bodies.  First  his  advance-guard;  then  his  artillery; 
then  his  battle  corps  a  good  way  in  the  rear.  He  was  now 
out  of  the  bush  and  in  a  fair  open  country.  He  at  once 
posted  his  artillery,  his  advance-guard,  and  five  hundred 
picked  archers  along  some  hedges  where  the  French  would 
be  obliged  to  pass,  and  hoped  to  hold  this  position  till  his 
battle  corps  could  come  up.  Sir  John  Fastolfe  urged  the 
battle  corps  into  a  gallop.  Joan  saw  her  opportunity  and  or 
dered  La  Hire  to  advance  —  which  La  Hire  promptly  did, 
launching  his  wild  riders  like  a  storm -wind,  his  customary 
fashion. 

The  Duke  and  the  Bastard  wanted  to  follow,  but  Joan 
said — 

"  Not  yet — wait." 

So  they  waited — impatiently,  and  fidgeting  in  their  saddles. 
But  she  was  steady — gazing  straight  before  her,  measuring, 
weighing,  calculating — by  shades,  minutes,  fractions  of  min 
utes,  seconds — with  all  her  great  soul  present,  in  eye,  and  set 
of  head,  and  noble  pose  of  body — but  patient,  steady,  master 
of  herself — master  of  herself  and  of  the  situation. 


252 

And  yonder,  receding,  receding,  plumes  lifting  and  falling, 
lifting  and  falling,  streamed  the  thundering  charge  of  La 
Hire's  godless  crew,  La  Hire's  great  figure  dominating  it  and 
his  sword  stretched  aloft  like  a  flag-staff. 

"O,  Satan  and  his  Hellions,  see  them  go!"  Somebody 
muttered  it  in  deep  admiration. 

And  now  he  was  closing  up  —  closing  up  on  Fastolfe's  rush 
ing  corps. 

And  now  he  struck  it  —  struck  it  hard,  and  broke  its  or 
der.  It  lifted  the  Duke  and  the  Bastard  in  their  saddles  to 
see  it;  and  they  turned,  trembling  with  excitement,  to  Joan, 
saying— 


But  she  put  up  her  hand,  still  gazing,  weighing,  calculating, 
and  said  again  — 

"  Wait—  not  yet." 

Fastolfe's  hard-driven  battle  corps  raged  on  like  an  ava 
lanche  toward  the  waiting  advance-guard.  Suddenly  these 
conceived  the  idea  that  it  was  flying  in  panic  before  Joan  ; 
and  so  in  that  instant  it  broke  and  swarmed  away  in  a  mad 
panic  itself,  with  Talbot  storming  and  cursing  after  it. 

Now  was  the  golden  time.  Joan  drove  her  spurs  home  and 
waved  the  advance  with  her  sword.  "  Follow  me  !"  she 
cried,  and  bent  her  head  to  her  horse's  neck  and  sped  away 
like  the  wind  ! 

We  swept  down  into  the  confusion  of  that  flying  rout,  and 
for  three  long  hours  we  cut  and  hacked  and  stabbed.  At 
last  the  bugles  sang  "  Halt!" 

The  Battle  of  Patay  was  won. 

Joan  of  Arc  dismounted,  and  stood  surveying  that  awful 
field,  lost  in  thought.  Presently  she  said  — 

"The  praise  is  to  God.  He  has  smitten  with  a  heavy  hand 
this  day."  After  a  little  she  lifted  her  face,  and  looking  afar 
off,  said,  with  the  manner  of  one  who  is  thinking  aloud,  "  In  a 
thousand  years  —  a  thousand  years  —  the  English  power  in 
France  will  not  rise  up  from  this  blow."  She  stood  again  a 
time,  thinking,  then  she  turned  toward  her  grouped  generals, 


253 

and  there  was  a  glory  in  her  face  and  a  noble  light  in  her 
eye  ;  and  she  said — 

"O,  friends,  friends,  do  you  know  ?— do  you  comprehend? 
France  is  on  the  way  to  be  fret !" 

"And  had  never  been,  but  for  Joan  of  Arc!"  said  La 
Hire,  passing  before  her  and  bowing  low,  the  others  following 
and  doing  likewise ;  he  muttering  as  he  went,  "  I  will  say  it 
though  I  be  damned  for  it."  Then  battalion  after  battalion 
of  our  victorious  army  swung  by,  wildly  cheering.  And  they 
shouted  "Live  forever,  Maid  of  Orleans,  live  forever!"  while 
Joan,  smiling,  stood  at  the  salute  with  her  sword. 

This  was  not  the  last  time  I  saw  the  Maid  of  Orleans  on 
the  red  field  of  Patay.  Toward  the  end  of  the  day  I  came 
upon  her  where  the  dead  and  dying  lay  stretched  all  about  in 
heaps  and  winrows ;  our  men  had  mortally  wounded  an  Eng 
lish  prisoner  who  was  too  poor  to  pay  a  ransom,  and  from  a 
distance  she  had  seen  that  cruel  thing  done ;  and  had  gal 
loped  to  the  place  and  sent  for  a  priest,  and  now  she  was 
holding  the  head  of  her  dying  enemy  in  her  lap,  and  easing 
him  to  his  death  with  comforting  soft  words,  just  as  his  sister 
might  have  done  ;  and  the  womanly  tears  running  down  her 
face  all  the  time.* 

*  Lord  Ronald  Gower  {Joan  of  Arc,  p.  82)  says  :  "  Michelet  discovered 
this  story  in  the  deposition  of  Joan  of  Arc's  page,  Louis  de  Conte,  who 
was  probably  an  eye-witness  of  the  scene."    This  is  true.     It  was  a  p-° 
the  testimony  of  the  author  of  these  "Personal  Recollection';    ~  l 
Arc,"  given  by  him  in  the  Rehabilitation  proceedings  r'«»Ontns  would 
LATOR.  -iig  was   making 

.^jyond  the  seas, 
maid  out  of  her  remote 
y  war,  this   all-consuming 
^  land  for  three  generations, 
nost  amazing  campaign  that  is 
v^en  weeks  it  was   finished.     In 
jiy  crippled  that  gigantic  war  that 
id.     At  Orleans  she  struck  it  a  stag- 
field  of  Patay  she  broke  its  back. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

JOAN  had  said  true :  France  was  on  the  way  to  be  free. 

The  war  called  the  Hundred  Years'  War  was  very  sick  to 
day.  Sick  on  its  English  side — for  the  very  first  time  since 
its  birth,  ninety-one  years  gone  by. 

Shall  we  judge  battles  by  the  numbers  killed  and  the  ruin 
wrought  ?  Or  shall  we  not  rather  judge  them  by  the  results 
which  flowed  from  them  ?  Any  one  will  say  that  a  battle  is 
only  truly  great  or  small  according  to  its  results.  Yes,  any 
one  will  grant  that,  for  it  is  the  truth. 

Judged  by  results,  Patay's  place  is  with  the  few  supremely 
great  and  imposing  battles  that  have  been  fought  since  the 
peoples  of  the  world  first  resorted  to  arms  for  the  settlement 
of  their  quarrels.  So  judged,  it  is  even  possible  that  Patay 
has  no  peer  among  that  few  just  mentioned,  but  stands  alone, 
as  the  supremest  of  historic  conflicts.  For  when  it  began 
France  lay  gasping  out  the  remnant  of  an  exhausted  life,  her 
liRte  wholly  hopeless  in  the  view  of  all  political  physicians ; 

We  s\v~U]ded,  three  hours  later,  she  was  convalescent.  Con- 
for  three  lon^,  nothing  requisite  but  time  and  ordinary  nurs- 
last  the  bugles  Siback  to  perfect  health.  The  dullest  physi- 

The  Battle  of  Pat^see  this,  and  there  was  none  to  deny  it. 

Joan  of  Arc  dismounttions  have  reached  convalescence 
field,  lost  in  thought.  Pres^a  procession  of  battles,  a  weary 

"The  praise  is  to  God.  Hehing  over  years  ,  but  only  one 
this  day."  After  a  little  she  lihnd  by  a  single  battle.  That 
off,  said,  with  the  manner  of  one  \Patay. 

thousand  years  —  a  thousand  years  for  you  are  French,  and 
France  will  not  rise  up  from  this  blownals  of  your  country, 
time,  thinking,  then  she  turned  toward  hels  !  And  when  you 


255 

grow  up  you  will  go  on  pilgrimage  to  the  field  of  Patay,  and 
stand  uncovered  in  the  presence  of — what?  A  monument 
with  its  head  in  the  clouds  ?  Yes.  For  all  nations  in  all 
times  have  built  monuments  on  their  battle-fields  to  keep 
green  the  memory  of  the  perishable  deed  that  was  wrought 
there  and  of  the  perishable  name  of  him  who  wrought  it;  and 
will  France  neglect  Patay  and  Joan  of  Arc?  Not  for  Jong. 
And  will  she  build  a  monument  scaled  to  their  rank  as  com 
pared  with  the  world's  other  fields  and  heroes  ?  Perhaps — 
if  there  be  room  for  it  under  the  arch  of  the  sky. 

But  let  us  look  back  a  little,  and  consider  certain  strange 
and  impressive  facts.  The  Hundred  Years'  War  began  in 
1337.  It  raged  on  and  on,  year  after  year  and  year  after 
year;  and  at  last  England  stretched  France  prone  with  that 
fearful  blow  at  Crecy.  But  she  rose  and  struggled  on,  year 
after  year,  and  at  last  again  she  went  down  under  another  de 
vastating  blow — Poitiers.  She  gathered  her  crippled  strength 
once  more,  and  the  war  raged  on,  and  on,  and  still  on,  year 
after  year,  decade  after  decade.  Children  were  born,  grew 
up,  married,  died — the  war  raged  .on  ;  their  children  in  turn 
grew  up,  married,  died  —  the  war  raged  on  ;  their  children, 
growing,  saw  France  struck  down  again  ;  this  time  under  the 
incredible  disaster  of  Agincourt — and  still  the  war  raged  on, 
year  after  year,  and  in  time  these  children  married  in  their  turn. 

France  was  a  wreck,  a  ruin,  a  desolation.  The  half  of  it 
belonged  to  England,  with  none  to  dispute  or  deny  the  truth  ; 
the  other  half  belonged  to  nobody — in  three  months  would 
be  flying  the  English  flag :  the  French  King  was  making 
ready  to  throw  away  his  crown  and  flee  beyond  the  seas. 

Now  came  the  ignorant  country  maid  out  of  her  remote 
village  and  confronted  this  hoary  war,  this  all-consuming 
conflagration  that  had  swept  the  land  for  three  generations. 
Then  began  the  briefest  and  most  amazing  campaign  that  is 
recorded  in  history.  In  seven  weeks  it  was  finished.  In 
seven  weeks  she  hopelessly  crippled  that  gigantic  war  that 
was  ninety-one  years  old.  At  Orleans  she  struck  it  a  stag 
gering  blow  ;  on  the  field  of  Patay  she  broke  its  back. 


256 


Think  of  it.  Yes,  one  can  do  that ;  but  understand  it  ? 
Ah,  that  is  another  matter-,  none  will  ever  be  able  to  compre 
hend  that  stupefying  marvel. 

Seven  weeks  —  with  here  and  there  a  little  bloodshed. 
Perhaps  the  most  of  it,  in  any  single  fight,  at  Patay,  where  the 
English  began  six  thousand  strong  and  left  two  thousand 
dead  upon  the  field.  It  is  said  and  believed  that  in  three 
battles  alone — Crecy,  Poitiers,  and  Agincourt — near  a  hun 
dred  thousand  Frenchmen  fell,  without  counting  the  thou 
sand  other  fights  of  that  long  war.  The  dead  of  that  war 
make  a  mournful  long  list  —  an  interminable  list.  Of  men 
slain  in  the  field  the  count  goes  by  tens  of  thousands ;  of  in 
nocent  women  and  children  slain  by  bitter  hardship  and  hun 
ger  it  goes  by  that  appalling  term,  millions. 

It  was  an  ogre,  that  war ;  an  ogre  that  went  about  for 
near  a  hundred  years,  crunching  men  and  dripping  blood 
from  his  jaws.  And  with  her  little  hand  that  child  of  seven 
teen  struck  him  down  ;  and  yonder  he  lies  stretched  on  the 
field  of  Patay,  and  will  not  get  up  any  more  while  this  old 
world  lasts. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  great  news  of  Patay  was  carried  over  the  whole  of 
France  in  twenty  hours,  people  said.  I  do  not  know  as  to 
that ;  but  one  thing  is  sure,  anyway :  the  moment  a  man  got 
it  he  flew  shouting  and  glorifying  God  and  told  his  neighbor ; 
and  that  neighbor  flew  with  it  to  the  next  homestead ,  and  so 
on  and  so  on  without  resting  the  word  travelled ;  and  when  a 
man  got  it  in  the  night,  at  what  hour  soever,  he  jumped  out 
of  his  bed  and  bore  the  blessed  message  along.  And  the  joy 
that  went  with  it  was  like  the  light  that  flows  across  the  land 
when  an  eclipse  is  receding  from  the  face  of  the  sun;  and 
indeed  you  may  say  that  France  had  lain  in  an  eclipse  this 
long  time ;  yes,  buried  in  a  black  gloom  which  these  benef 
icent  tidings  were  sweeping  away,  now,  before  the  on-rush  of 
their  white  splendor. 

The  news  beat  the  flying  enemy  to  Yeuville,  and  the  town 
rose  against  its  English  masters  and  shut  the  gates  against 
their  brethren.  It  flew  to  Mont  Pipeau,  to  Saint  Simon,  and 
to  this,  that,  and  the  other  English  fortress ;  and  straightway 
the  garrison  applied  the  torch  and  took  to  the  fields  and  the 
woods.  A  detachment  of  our  army  occupied  Meung  and 
pillaged  it. 

When  we  reached  Orleans  that  town  was  as  much  as  fifty 
times  insaner  with  joy  than  we  had  ever  seen  it  before — 
which  is  saying  much.  Night  had  just  fallen,  and  the  illu 
minations  were  on  so  wonderful  a  scale  that  we  seemed  to 
plough  through  seas  of  fire;  and  as  to  the  noise — the  hoarse 
cheering  of  the  multitude,  the  thundering  of  cannon,  the 
clash  of  bells — indeed  there  was  never  anything  like  it.  And 
everywhere  rose  a  new  cry  that  burst  upon  us  like  a  storm. 


258 

when  the  column  entered  the  gates,  and  nevermore  ceased : 
"  Welcome  to  Joan  of  Arc — way  for  the  SAVIOR  OF  FRANCE  !" 
And  there  was  another  cry:  "Crecy  is  avenged!  Poitiers  is 
avenged  !  Agincourt  is  avenged  ! — Patay  shall  live  forever  !" 

Mad  ?  Why,  you  never  could  imagine  it  in  the  world. 
The  prisoners  were  in  the  centre  of  the  column.  When  that 
came  along  and  the  people  caught  sight  of  their  masterful  old 
enemy  Talbot,  that  had  made  them  dance  so  long  to  his  grim 
war-music,  you  may  imagine  what  the  uproar  was  like  if  you 
can,  for  I  cannot  describe  it.  They  were  so  glad  to  see  him 
that  presently  they  wanted  to  have  him  out  and  hang  him  ,  so 
Joan  had  him  brought  up  to  the  front  to  ride  in  her  protec 
tion.  They  made  a  striking  pair. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

YES,  Orleans  was  in  a  delirium  of  felicity.  She  invited 
the  King,  and  made  sumptuous  preparations  to  receive  him, 
but — he  didn't  come.  He  was  simply  a  serf  at  that  time,  and 
La  Tremouille  was  his  master.  Master  and  serf  were  visiting 
together  at  the  master's  castle  of  Sully-sur-Loire. 

At  Beaugency  Joan  had  engaged  to  bring  about  a  recon 
ciliation  between  the  Constable  Richemont  and  the  King. 
She  took  Richemont  to  Sully-sur-Loire  and  made  her  promise 
good. 

The  great  deeds  of  Joan  of  Arc  are  five : 

1.  The  Raising  of  the  Siege. 

2.  The  Victory  of  Patay. 

3.  The  Reconciliation  at  Sully-sur-Loire. 

4.  The  Coronation  of  the  King. 

5.  The  Bloodless  March. 

We  shall  come  to  the  Bloodless  March  presently ;  (and  the 
Coronation).  It  was  the  victorious  long  march  which  Joan 
made  through  the  enemy's  country  from  Gien  to  Rheims,  and 
thence  to  the  gates  of  Paris,  capturing  every  English  town 
and  fortress  that  barred  the  road,  from  the  beginning  of  the 
journey  to  the  end  of  it ;  and  this  by  the  mere  force  of  her 
name,  and  without  shedding  a  drop  of  blood  —  perhaps  the 
most  extraordinary  campaign  in  this  regard  in  history — this  is 
the  most  glorious  of  her  military  exploits. 

The  Reconciliation  was  one  of  Joan's  most  important 
achievements.  No  one  else  could  have  accomplished  it ;  and 
in  fact  no  one  else  of  high  consequence  had  any  disposition 
to  try.  In  brains,  in  scientific  warfare,  and  in  statesmanship 
the  Constable  Richemont  was  the  ablest  man  in  France.  His 


260 


loyalty  was  sincere  ;  his  probity  was  above  suspicion — (and 
it  made  him  sufficiently  conspicuous  in  that  trivial  and  con 
scienceless  Court). 

In  restoring  Richemont  to  France,  Joan  made  thoroughly 
secure  the  successful  completion  of  the  great  work  which  she 
had  begun.  She  had  never  seen  Richemont  until  he  came  to 
her  with  his  little  army.  Was  it  not  wonderful  that  at  a 
glance  she  should  know  him  for  the  one  man  who  could  finish 
and  perfect  her  work  and  establish  it  in  perpetuity  ?  How 
was  it  that  that  child  was  able  to  do  this  ?  It  was  because 
she  had  the  "seeing  eye,"  as  one  of  our  knights  had  once 
said.  Yes,  she  had  that  great  gift — almost  the  highest  and 
rarest  that  has  been  granted  to  man.  Nothing  of  an  extraor 
dinary  sort  was  still  to  be  done,  yet  the  remaining  work  could 
not  safely  be  left  to  the  King's  idiots  ;  for  it  would  require 
wise  statesmanship  and  long  and  patient  though  desultory 
hammering  of  the  enemy.  Now  and  then,  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century  yet,  there  would  be  a  little  righting  to  do,  and  a  handy 
man  could  carry  that  on  with  small  disturbance  to  the  rest  of 
the  country  ;  and  little  by  little,  and  with  progressive  certainty, 
the  English  would  disappear  from  France. 

And  that  happened.  Under  the  influence  of  Richemont 
the  King  became  at  a  later  time  a  man — a  man,  a  king,  a 
brave  and  capable  and  determined  soldier.  Within  six 
years  after  Patay  he  was  leading  storming  parties  himself ; 
fighting  in  fortress  ditches  up  to  his  waist  in  water,  and 
climbing  scaling-ladders  under  a  furious  fire  with  a  pluck  that 
would  have  satisfied  even  Joan  of  Arc.  In  time  he  and  Riche 
mont  cleared  away  all  the  English ;  even  from  regions  where 
the  people  had  been  under  their  mastership  for  three  hundred 
years.  In  such  regions  wise  and  careful  work  was  necessary, 
for  the  English  rule  had  been  fair  and  kindly ;  and  men  who 
have  been  ruled  in  that  way  are  not  always  anxious  for  a  change. 

Which  of  Joan's  five  chief  deeds  shall  we  call  chiefest  ?  It 
is  my  thought  that  each  in  its  turn  was  that.  This  is  saying 
that,  taken  as  a  whole,  they  equalized  each  other,  and  neither 
was  then  greater  than  its  mate. 


THE    SIEGE    OF    ORLEANS 
(From  the  painting  by  J.  E.  Lenepveu  in  the  PanthSon  at  Paris) 


26l 


Do  you  perceive  ?  Each  was  a  stage  in  an  ascent.  To 
leave  out  one  of  them  would  defeat  the  journey ;  to  achieve 
one  of  them  at  the  wrong  time  and  in  the  wrong  place  would 
have  the  same  effect. 

Consider  the  Coronation.  Asa  masterpiece  of  diplomacy, 
where  can  you  find  its  superior  in  our  history?  Did  the 
King  suspect  its  vast  importance  ?  No.  Did  his  ministers  ? 
No.  Did  the  astute  Bedford,  representative  of  the  English 
crown  ?  No.  An  advantage  of  incalculable  importance  was 
here  under  the  eyes  of  the  King  and  of  Bedford ;  the  King 
could  get  it  by  a  bold  stroke,  Bedford  could  get  it  without  an 
effort;  but  being  ignorant  of  its  value,  neither  of  them  put 
forth  his  hand.  Of  all  the  wise  people  in  high  office  in 
France,  only  one  knew  the  priceless  worth  of.  this  neglected 
prize  —  the  untaught  child  of  seventeen,  Joan  of  Arc  —  and 
she  had  known  it  from  the  beginning,  had  spoken  of  it  from 
the  beginning  as  an  essential  detail  of  her  mission. 

How  did  she  know  it  ?  It  is  simple  :  she  was  a  peasant. 
That  tells  the  whole  story.  She  was  of  the  people  and  knew 
the  people ;  those  others  moved  in  a  loftier  sphere  and  knew 
nothing  much  about  them.  We  make  little  account  of  that 
vague,  formless,  inert  mass,  that  mighty  underlying  force  which 
we  call  "  the  people  " — an  epithet  which  carries  contempt  with 
it.  It  is  a  strange  attitude ;  for  at  bottom  we  know  that 
the  throne  which  the  people  support,  stands,  and  that  when 
that  support  is  removed,  nothing  in  this  world  can  save  it. 

Now,  then,  consider  this  fact,  and  observe  its  importance. 
Whatever  the  parish  priest  believes,  his  flock  believes ;  they 
love  him,  they  revere  him  ;  he  is  their  unfailing  friend,  their 
dauntless  protector,  their  comforter  in  sorrow,  their  helper  in 
their  day  of  need ;  he  has  their  whole  confidence ;  what  he 
tells  them  to  do,  that  they  will  do,  with  a  blind  and  affection 
ate  obedience,  let  it  cost  what  it  rnay.  Add  these  facts 
thoughtfully  together,  and  what  is  the  sum  ?  This  :  The  par 
ish  priest  governs  the  nation.  What  is  the  King,  then,  if  the 
parish  priest  withdraw  his  support  and  deny  his  authority? 
Merely  a  shadow  and  no  King ;  let  him  resign. 


262 


Do  you  get  that  idea  ?  Then  let  us  proceed.  A  priest  is 
consecrated  to  his  office  by  the  awful  hand  of  God,  laid  upon 
him  by  his  appointed  representative  on  earth.  That  conse 
cration  is  final ;  nothing  can  undo  it,  nothing  can  remove  it. 
Neither  the  Pope  nor  any  other  power  can  strip  the  priest  of 
his  office ;  God  gave  it,  and  it  is  forever  sacred  and  secure. 
The  dull  parish  knows  all  this.  To  priest  and  parish,  whoso 
ever  is  anointed  of  God  bears  an  office  whose  authority  can 
no  longer  be  disputed  or  assailed.  To  the  parish  priest,  and 
to  his  subjects  the  nation,  an  uncrowned  king  is  a  similitude 
of  a  person  who  has  been  named  for  holy  orders  but  has  not 
been  consecrated  ;  he  has  no  office,  he  has  not  been  ordained, 
another  may  be  appointed  in  his  place.  In  a  word,  an  un 
crowned  king  is  a  doubtful  King;  but  if  God  appoint  him  and 
His  servant  the  Bishop  anoint  him,  the  doubt  is  annihilated ; 
the  priest  and  the  parish  are  his  loyal  subjects  straightway, 
and  while  he  lives  they  will  recognize  no  king  but  him. 

To  Joan  of  Arc  the  peasant  girl,  Charles  VII.  was  no  King 
until  he  was  crowned ;  to  her  he  was  only  the  Dauphin ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  heir.  If  I  have  ever  made  her  call  him  King,  it 
was  a  mistake ;  she  called  him  the  Dauphin,  and  nothing  else 
until  after  the  Coronation.  It  shows  you  as  in  a  mirror — for 
Joan  was  a  mirror  in  which  the  lowly  hosts  of  France  were 
clearly  reflected — that  to  all  that  vastt  underlying  force  called 
"  the  people  "  he  was  no  King  but  only  Dauphin  before  his 
crowning,  and  was  indisputably  and  irrevocably  King  after  it. 

Now  you  understand  what  a  colossal  move  on  the  political 
chess-board  the  Coronation  was.  Bedford  realized  this  by- 
and-by,  and  tried  to  patch  up  his  mistake  by  crowning  his 
King  ;  but  what  good  could  that  do  ?  None  in  the  world. 

Speaking  of  chess,  Joan's  great  acts  may  be  likened  to  that 
game.  Each  move  was  made  in  its  proper  order,  and  it  was 
great  and  effective  because  it  was  made  in  its  proper  order 
and  not  out  of  it.  Each,  at  the  time  made,  seemed  the  great 
est  move ;  but  the  final  result  made  them  all  recognizable  as 
equally  essential*  and  equally  important.  This  is  the  game, 
as  played : 


1.  Joan  moves  Orleans  and  Patay — check. 

2.  Then  moves  the  Reconciliation — but  does  not  proclaim 
check,  it  being  a  move  for  position,  and  to  take  effect  later. 

3.  Next  she  moves  the  Coronation — check. 

4.  Next,  the  Bloodless  March — check. 

5.  Final  move  (after  her  death)  the  reconciled  Constable. 
Richemont  to  the  French  King's  elbow — checkmate. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

THE  Campaign  of  the  Loire  had  as  good  as  opened  the  road 
to  Rheims.  There  was  no  sufficient  reason  now  why  the  Cor 
onation  should  not  take  place.  The  Coronation  would  com 
plete  the  mission  which  Joan  had  received  from  heaven,  and 
then  she  would  be  forever  done  with  war,  and  would  fly  home 
to  her  mother  and  her  sheep,  and  never  stir  from  the  hearth 
stone  and  happiness  any  more.  That  was  her  dream  ;  and 
she  could  not  rest,  she  was  so  impatient  to  see  it  fulfilled. 
She  became  so  possessed  with  this  matter  that  I  began  to 
lose  faith  in  her  two  prophecies  of  her  early  death — and  of 
course  when  I  found  that  faith  wavering  I  encouraged  it  to 
waver  all  the  more. 

The  King  was  afraid  to  start  to  Rheims,  because  the  road 
was  mile-posted  with  English  fortresses,  so  to  speak.  Joan 
held  them  in  light  esteem  and  not  things  to  be  afraid  of  in  the 
existing  modified  condition  of  English  confidence. 

And  she  was  right.  As  it  turned  out,  the  march  to  Rheims 
was  nothing  but  a  holiday  excursion.  Joan  did  not  even  take 
any  artillery  along,  she  was  so  sure  it  would  not  be  necessary. 
We  marched  from  Gien  twelve  thousand  strong.  This  was 
the  29th  of  June.  The  Maid  rode  by  the  side  of  the  King ; 
on  his  other  side  was  the  Duke  d'Alengon.  After  the  Duke 
followed  three  other  princes  of  the  blood.  After  these  fol 
lowed  the  Bastard  of  Orleans,  the  Marshal  de  Boussac,  and 
the  Admiral  of  France.  After  these  came  La  Hire,  Saintrail- 
les,  Tremouille,  and  a  long  procession  of  knights  and  nobles. 

We  rested  three  days  before  Auxerre.  The  city  provisioned 
the  army,  and  a  deputation  waited  upon  the  King,  but  we  did 
not  enter  the  place. 


265 

Saint-Florentin  opened  its  gates  to  the  King. 

On  the  4th  of  July  we  reached  Saint-Fal,  and  yonder  lay 
Troyes  before  us — a  town  which  had  a  burning  interest  for  us 
boys ;  for  we  remembered  how  seven  years  before,  in  the  pas 
tures  of  Domremy,  the  Sunflower  came  with  his  black  flag  and 
brought  us  the  shameful  news  of  the  Treaty  of  Troyes — that 
treaty  which  gave  France  to  England,  and  a  daughter  of  our 
royal  line  in  marriage  to  the  Butcher  of  Agincourt.  That 
poor  town  was  not  to  blame,  of  course;  yet  we  flushed  hot 
with  that  old  memory,  and  hoped  there  would  be  a  misunder 
standing  here,  for  we  dearly  wanted  to  storm  the  place  and 
burn  it.  It  was  powerfully  garrisoned  by  English  and  Bur- 
gundian  soldiery,  and  was  expecting  re-enforcements  from 
Paris.  Before  night  we  camped  before  its  gates  and  made 
rough  work  with  a  sortie  which  marched  out  against  us. 

Joan  summoned  Troyes  to  surrender.  Its  commandant, 
seeing  that  she  had  no  artillery,  scoffed  at  the  idea,  and  sent 
her  a  grossly  insulting  reply.  Five  days  we  consulted  and 
negotiated.  No  result.  The  King  was  about  to  turn  back 
now,  and  give  up.  He  was  afraid  to  go  on,  leaving  this 
strong  place  in  his  rear.  Then  La  Hire  put  in  a  word,  with 
a  slap  in  it  for  some  of  his  Majesty's  advisers  : 

"  The  Maid  of  Orleans  undertook  this  expedition  of  her 
own  motion  ;  and  it  is  my  mind  that  it  is  her  judg 
ment  that  should  be  followed  here,  and  not  that  of  any 
other,  let  him  be  of  whatsoever  breed  and  standing  he 
may." 

There  was  wisdom  and  righteousness  in  that.  So  the  King 
sent  for  the  Maid,  and  asked  her  how  she  thought  the  pros 
pect  looked.  She  said,  without  any  tone  of  doubt  or  question 
in  her  voice  : 

"  In  three  days'  time  the  place  is  ours." 

The  smug  Chancellor  put  in  a  word  now  : 

"If  we  were  sure  of  it  we  would  wait  here  six  days." 

"  Six  clays,  forsooth  !  Name  of  God,  man,  we  will  enter 
the  gates  to-morrow  !" 

Then  she  mounted,  and  rode  her  lines,  crying  out — 


266 


"  Make  preparation — to  your  work,  friends,  to  your  work  ! 
We  assault  at  dawn  !" 

She  worked  hard  that  night ;  slaving  away  with  her  own 
hands  like  a  common  soldier.  She  ordered  fascines  and 
fagots  to  be  prepared  and  thrown  into  the  fosse,  thereby  to 
bridge  it ;  and  in  this  rough  labor  she  took  a  man's  share. 

At  dawn  she  took  her  place  at  the  head  of  the  storming 
force  and  the  bugles  blew  the  assault.  At  that  moment  a 
flag  of  truce  was  flung  to  the  breeze  from  the  walls,  and 
Troyes  surrendered  without  firing  a  shot. 

The  next  day  the  King  with  Joan  at  his  side  and  the  Pala 
din  bearing  her  banner  entered  the  town  in  state  at  the  head 
of  the  army.  And  a  goodly  army  it  was,  now,  for  it  had 
been  growing  ever  bigger  and  bigger  from  the  first. 

And  now  a  curious  thing  happened.  By  the  terms  of  the 
treaty  made  with  the  town  the  garrison  of  English  and  Bur- 
gundian  soldiery  were  to  be  allowed  to  carry  away  their 
"goods  "  with  them.  This  was  well,  for  otherwise  how  would 
they  buy  the  wherewithal  to  live  ?  Very  well ;  these  people 
were  all  to  go  out  by  the  one  gate,  and  at  the  time  set  for 
them  to  depart  we  young  fellows  went  to  that  gate,  along 
with  the  Dwarf,  to  see  the  march-out.  Presently  here  they 
came  in  an  interminable  file,  the  foot-soldiers  in  the  lead.  As 
they  approached  one  could  see  that  each  bore  a  burden  of  a 
bulk  and  weight  to  sorely  tax  his  strength ;  and  we  said 
among  ourselves,  truly  these  folk  are  well  off  for  poor  com 
mon  soldiers.  When  they  were  come  nearer,  what  do  you 
think  ?  Every  rascal  of  them  had  a  French  prisoner  on  his 
back !  They  were  carrying  away  their  "  goods,"  you  see — 
their  property— strictly  according  to  the  permission  granted 
by  the  treaty. 

Now  think  how  clever  that  was,  how  ingenious.  What 
could  a  body  say  ?  what  could  a  body  do  ?  For  certainly 
these  people  were  within  their  right.  These  prisoners  were 
property ;  nobody  could  deny  that.  My  dears,  if  those  had 
been  English  captives,  conceive  of  the  richness  of  that  booty  ! 
For  English  prisoners  had  been  scarce  and  precious  for  a 


267 


hundred  years ;  whereas  it  was  a  different  matter  with  French 
prisoners.  They  had  been  over-abundant  for  a  century.  The 
possessor  of  a  French  prisoner  did  not  hold  him  long  for  ran 
som  as  a  rule,  but  presently  killed  him  to  save  the  cost  of  his 
keep.  This  shows  you  how  small  was  the  value  of  such  a 
possession  in  those  times.  When  we  took  Troyes  a  calf  was 
worth  thirty  francs,  a  sheep  sixteen,  a  French  prisoner  eight. 
It  was  an  enormous  price  for  those  other  animals — a  price 
which  naturally  seems  incredible  to  you.  It  was  the  war,  you 
see.  It  worked  two  ways  :  it  made  meat  dear  and  prisoners 
cheap. 

Well,  here  were  these  poor  Frenchmen  being  carried  off. 
What  could  we  do  ?  Very  little  of  a  permanent  sort,  but  we 
did  what  we  could.  We  sent  a  messenger  flying  to  Joan,  and 
we  and  the  French  guards  halted  the  procession  for  a  parley 
— to  gain  time,  you  see.  A  big  Burgundian  lost  his  temper 
and  swore  a  great  oath  that  none  should  stop  him ;  he  would 
go,  and  would  take  his  prisoner  with  him.  But  we  blocked 
him  off,  and  he  saw  that  he  was  mistaken  about  going — he 
couldn't  do  it.  He  exploded  into  the  maddest  cursings  and 
revilings,  then,  and  unlashing  his  prisoner  from  his  back, 
stood  him  up,  all  bound  and  helpless;  then  drew  his  knife, 
and  said  to  us  with  a  light  of  sarcastic  triumph  in  his  eye — 

"  I  may  not  carry  him  away,  you  say — yet  he  is  mine,  none 
will  dispute  it.  Since  I  may  not  convey  him  hence,  this  property 
of  mine,  there  is  another  way.  Yes,  I  can  kill  him  ;  not  even 
the  dullest  among  you  will  question  that  right.  Ah,  you  had 
not  thought  of  that — vermin  !" 

That  poor  starved  fellow  begged  us  with  his  piteous  eyes 
to  save  him  ;  then  spoke,  and  said  he  had  a  wife  and  little 
children  at  home.  Think  how  it  wrung  our  heartstrings. 
But  what  could  we  do  ?  The  Burgundian  was  within  his 
right.  We  could  only  beg  and  plead  for  the  prisoner.  Which 
we  did.  And  the  Burgundian  enjoyed  it.  He  stayed  his 
hand  to  hear  more  of  it,  and  laugh  at  it.  That  stung.  Then 
the  Dwarf  said — 

"  Prithee,  young  sirs,  let  me  beguile  him  ;  for  when  a  mat- 


268 


ter  requiring  persuasion  is  to  the  fore,  I  have  indeed  a  gift  in 
that  sort,  as  any  will  tell  you  that  know  me  well.  You  smile ; 
and  that  is  punishment  for  my  vanity,  and  fairly  earned,  I 
grant  it  you.  Still,  if  I  may  toy  a  little,  just  a  little — "  say 
ing  which  he  stepped  to  the  Burgunclian  and  began  a  fair 
soft  speech,  all  of  goodly  and  gentle  tenor ;  and  in  the  midst 
he  mentioned  the  Maid ;  and  was  going  on  to  say  how  she 
out  of  her  good  heart  wtmld  prize  and  praise  this  compas 
sionate  deed  which  he  was  about  to — 

It  was  as  far  as  he  got.     The  Burgundian  burst  into  his' 
smooth  oration  with  an  insult  levelled  at  Joan  of  Arc.     We 
sprang  forward,  but  the  Dwarf,  his  face  all  livid,  brushed  us 
aside  and  said,  in  a  most  grave  and  earnest  way — 

"  I  crave  your  patience.  Am  not  I  her  guard  of  honor  ? 
This  is  my  affair." 

And  saying  this  he  suddenly  shot  his  right  hand  out  and 
gripped  the  great  Burgundian  by  the  throat,  and  so  held  him 
upright  on  his  feet.  "  You  have  insulted  the  Maid,"  he  said  ; 
"and  the  Maid  is  France.  The  tongue  that  does  that  earns 
a  long  furlough." 

One  heard  the  muffled  cracking  of  bones.  The  Burgun- 
dian's  eyes  began  to  protrude  from  their  sockets  and  stare 
with  a  leaden  dulness  at  vacancy.  The  color  deepened  in 
his  face  and  became  an  opaque  purple.  His  hands  hung 
down  limp,  his  body  collapsed  with  a  shiver,  every  muscle  re 
laxed  its  tension  and  ceased  from  its  function.  The  Dwarf 
took  away  his  hand  and  the  column  of  inert  mortality  sank 
mushily  to  the  ground. 

We  struck  the  bonds  from  the  prisoner  and  told  him  he 
was  free.  His  crawling  humbleness  changed  to  frantic  joy 
in  a  moment,  and  his  ghastly  fear  to  a  childish  rage.  He 
flew  at  that  dead  corpse  and  kicked  it,  spat  in  its  face  ; 
danced  upon  it,  crammed  mud  into  its  mouth,  laughing,  jeer 
ing,  cursing  and  volleying  forth  indecencies  and  bestialities 
like  a  drunken  fiend.  It  was  a  thing  to  be  expected  :  sol 
diering  makes  few  saints.  Many  of  the  on-lookers  laughed, 
others  were  indifferent,  none  was  surprised.  But  presently 


269 

in  his  mad  caperings  the  freed  man  capered  within  reach  of 
the  waiting  file,  and  another  Burgundian  promptly  slipped  a 
knife  through  his  neck,  and  down  he  went  with  a  death-shriek, 
his  brilliant  artery -blood  spurting  ten  feet  as  straight  and 
bright  as  a  ray  of  light.  There  was  a  great  burst  of  jolly 
laughter  all  around  from  friend  and  foe  alike  ;  and  thus  closed 
one  of  the  pleasantest  incidents  of  my  checkered  military  life. 

And  now  came  Joan  hurrying,  and  deeply  troubled.  She 
considered  the  claim  of  the  garrison,  then  said — 

"You  have  right  upon  your  side.  It  is  plain.  It  was  a 
careless  word  to  put  in  the  treaty,  and  covers  too  much.  But 
ye  may  not  take  these  poor  men  away.  They  are  French, 
and  I  will  not  have  it.  The  King  shall  ransom  them,  every 
one.  Wait  till  I  send  you  word  from  him  ;  and  hurt  no  hair 
of  their  heads ;  for  I  tell  you,  I  who  speak,  that  that  would 
cost  you  very  dear." 

That  settled  it.  The  prisoners  were  safe  for  one  while, 
anyway.  Then  she  rode  back  eagerly  and  required  that 
thing  of  the  King,  and  would  listen  to  no  paltering  and  no 
excuses.  So  the  King  told  her  to  have  her  way,  and  she 
rode  straight  back  and  bought  the  captives  free  in  his  name 
and  let  them  go. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

IT  was  here  that  we  saw  again  the  Grand  Master  of  the 
King's  Household,  in  whose  castle  Joan  was  guest  when  she 
tarried  at  Chinon  in  those  first  days  of  her  coming  out  of  her 
own  country.  She  made  him  Bailiff  of  Troyes,  now,  by  the 
King's  permission. 

And  now  we  marched  again  ;  Chalons  surrendered  to  us ; 
and  there  by  Chalons  in  a  talk,  Joan  being  asked  if  she  had 
no  fears  for  the  future,  said  yes,  one — treachery.  Who  could 
believe  it  ?  who  could  dream  it  ?  And  yet  in  a  sense  it  was 
prophecy.  Truly  man  is  a  pitiful  animal. 

We  marched,  marched,  kept  on  marching ;  and  at  last  on 
the  1 6th  of  July  we  came  in  sight  of  our  goal,  and  saw  the 
great  cathedral  towers  of  Rheims  rise  out  of  the  distance  ! 
Huzzah  after  huzzah  swept  the  army  from  van  to  rear ;  and 
as  for  Joan  of  Arc,  there  where  she  sat  her  horse  gazing, 
clothed  all  in  white  armor,  dreamy,  beautiful,  and  in  her  face 
a  deep,  deep  joy,  a  joy  not  of  earth^oh,  she  was  not  flesh,  she 
was  a  spirit !  Her  sublime  mission  was  closing — closing  in 
flawless  triumph.  To-morrow  she  could  say,  "  It  is  finished 
—let  me  go  free." 

We  camped,  and  the  hurry  and  rush  and  turmoil  of  the 
grand  preparations  began.  The  Archbishop  and  a  great  depu 
tation  arrived ;  and  after  these  came  flock  after  flock,  crowd 
after  crowd,  of  citizens  and  country  folk  hurrahing  in,  with 
banners  and  music,  and  flowed  over  the  camp,  one  rejoicing 
inundation  after  another,  everybody  drunk  with  happiness. 
And  all  night  long  Rheims  was  hard  at  work,  hammering 
away,  decorating  the  town,  building  triumphal  arches,  and 
clothing  the  ancient  cathedral  within  and  without  in  a  glory 
of  opulent  splendors. 


We  moved  betimes  in  the  morning :  the  coronation  cere 
monies  would  begin  at  nine  and  last  five  hours.  We  were 
aware  that  the  garrison  of  English  and  Burgundian  soldiers 
had  given  up  all  thought  of  resisting  the  Maid,  and  that  we 
should  find  the  gates  standing  hospitably  open  and  the  whole 
city  ready  to  welcome  us  with  enthusiasm. 

It  was  a  delicious  morning,  brilliant  with  sunshine  but  cool 
and  fresh  and  inspiring.  The  army  was  in  great  form,  and 
fine  to  see,  as  it  uncoiled  from  its  lair  fold  by  fold,  and 
stretched  away  on  the  final  march  of  the  peaceful  Coronation 
Campaign. 

Joan,  on  her  black  horse,  with  the  Lieutenant-General  and 
the  personal  staff  grouped  about  her,  took  post  for  a  final  re 
view  and  a  good-bye;  for  she  was  not  expecting  to  ever  be  a 
soldier  again,  or  ever  serve  with  these  or  any  other  soldiers 
any  more  after  this  day.  The  army  knew  this,  and  believed 
it  was  looking  for  the  last  time  upon  the  girlish  face  of  its  in 
vincible  little  Chief,  its  pet,  its  pride,  its  darling,  whom  it  had 
ennobled  in  its  private  heart  with  nobilities  of  its  own  crea 
tion,  calling  her  "  Daughter  of  God,"  "  Savior  of  France," 
"Victory's  Sweetheart,"  "the  Page  of  Christ,"  together  with 
still  softer  titles  which  were  simply  naif  and  frank  endear 
ments  such  as  men  are  used  to  confer  upon  children  whom 
they  love.  And  so  one  saw  a  new  thing  now ;  a  thing  bred 
of  the  emotion  that  was  present  there  on  both  sides.  Always 
before,  in  the  march-past,  the  battalions  had  gone  swinging 
by  in  a  storm  of  cheers,  heads  up  and  eyes  flashing,  the 
drums  rolling,  the  bands  braying  paeans  of  victory;  but  now 
there  was  nothing  of  that.  But  for  one  impressive  sound,  one 
could  have  closed  his  eyes  and  imagined  himself  in  a  world 
of  the  dead.  That  one  sound  was  all  that  visited  the  ear  in 
the  summer  stillness — just  that  one  sound— the  muffled  tread 
of  the  marching  host.  As  the  serried  masses  drifted  by,  the 
men  put  their  right  hands  up  to  their  temples,  palms  to  the 
front,  in  military  salute,  turning  their  eyes  upon  Joan's  face 
in  mute  God-bless-you  and  farewell,  and  keeping  them  there 
while  they  could.  They  still  kept  their  hands  up  in  reverent 


272 


salute  many  steps  after  they  had  passed  by.  Every  time  Joan 
put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  you  could  see  a  little  quiver 
of  emotion  crinkle  along  the  faces  of  the  files. 

The  march-past  after  a  victory  is  a  thing  to  drive  the  heart 
mad  with  jubilation  ;  but  this  one  was  a  thing  to  break  it. 

We  rode  now  to  the  King's  lodging,  which  was  the- Arch 
bishop's  country  palace ;  and  he  was  presently  ready,  and  we 
galloped  off  and  took  position  at  the  head  of  the  army.  By 
this  time  the  country  people  were  arriving  in  multitudes  from 
every  direction  and  massing  themselves  on  both  sides  of  the 
road  to  get  sight  of  Joan — just  as  had  been  done  every  day 
since  our  first  day's  march  began.  Our  march  now  lay 
through  the  grassy  plain,  and  those  peasants  made  a  dividing 
double  border  for  that  plain.  They  stretched  right  down 
through  it,  a  broad  belt  of  brighj  colors  on  each  side  of  the 
road  ;  for  every  peasant  girl  and  woman  in  it  had  a  white 
jacket  on  her  body  and  a  crimson  skirt  on  the  rest  of  her. 
Endless  borders  made  of  poppies  and  lilies  stretching  away 
in  front  of  us — that  is  what  it  looked  like.  And  that  is  the 
kind  of  lane  we  had  been  marching  through  all  these  days. 
Not  a  lane  between  multitudinous  flowers  standing  upright 
on  their  steins  —  no,  these  flowers  were  always  kneeling; 
kneeling,  these  human  flowers,  with  their  hands  and  faces 
lifted  toward  Joan  of  Arc,  and  the  grateful  tears  streaming- 
down.  And  all  along,  those  closest  to  the  road  hugged  her 
feet  and  kissed  them  and  laid  their  wet  cheeks  fondly  against 
them.  I  never,  during  all  those  days,  saw  any  of  either  sex 
stand  while  she  passed,  nor  any  man  keep  his  head  covered. 
Afterwards  in  the  Great  Trial  these  touching  scenes  were 
used  as  a  weapon  against  her.  She  had  been  made  an  object 
of  adoration  by  the  people,  and  this  was  proof  that  she  was  a 
heretic— so  claimed  that  unjust  court. 

As  we  drew  near  the  city  the  curving  long  sweep  of  ram 
parts  and  towers  was  gay  with  fluttering  flags  and  black  with 
masses  of  people  ;  and  all  the  air  was  vibrant  with  the  crash 
of  artillery  and  gloomed  with  drifting  clouds  of  smoke.  We 
entered  the  gates  in  state  and  moved  in  procession  through 


273 

the  city,  with  all  the  guilds  and  industries  in  holiday  costume 
marching  in  our  rear  with  their  banners  ;  and  all  the  route 

o  * 

was  hedged  with  a  huzzahing  crush  of  people,  and  all  the 
windows  were  full  and  all  the  roofs  ;  and  from  the  balconies 
hung  costly  stuffs  of  rich  colors  ;  and  the  waving  of  handker 
chiefs,  seen  in  perspective  through  a  long  vista,  was  like  a 
snow-storm. 

Joan's  name  had  been  introduced  into  the  prayers  of  the 
Church — an  honor  theretofore  restricted  to  royalty.  But  she 
had  a  dearer  honor  and  an  honor  more  to  be  proud  of,  from 
a  humbler  source :  the  common  people  had  had  leaden  med 
als  struck  which  bore  her  effigy  and  her  escutcheon,  and  these 
they  wore  as  charms.  One  saw  them  everywhere. 

From  the  Archbishop's  Palace,  where  we  halted,  and  where 
the  King  and  Joan  were  to  lodge,  the  King  sent  to  the  Abbey 
Church  of  St.  Remi,  which  was  over  toward  the  gate  by  which 
we  had  entered  the  city,  for  the  Sainte  Ampoule,  or  flask  of 
holy  oil.  This  oil  was  not  earthly  oil ;  it  was  made  in  heav 
en  ;  the  flask  also.  The  flask,  with  the  oil  in  it,  was  brought 
down  from  heaven  by  a  dove.  It  was  sent  down  to  St.  Remi 
just  as  he  was  going  to  baptize  King  Clovis,  who  had  become 
a  Christian.  I  know  this  to  be  true.  I  had  known  it  long 
before ;  for  Pere  Fronte  told  me  in  Domremy.  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  strange  and  awful  it  made  me  feel  when  I  saw  that 
flask  and  knew  I  was  looking  with  my  own  eyes  upon  a  thing 
which  had  actually  been  in  heaven ;  a  thing  which  had  been 
seen  by  angels,  perhaps ;  and  by  God  Himself  of  a  certainty, 
for  He  sent  it.  And  I  was  looking  upon  it — I.  At  one  time 
I  could  have  touched  it.  But  I  was  afraid ;  for  I  could  not 
know  but  that  God  had  touched  it.  It  is  most  probable  that 
He  had. 

From  this  flask  Clovis  had  been  anointed ;  and  from  it  all 
the  Kings  of  France  had  been  anointed  since.  Yes,  ever 
since  the  time  of  Clovis ;  and  that  was  nine  hundred  years. 
And  so,  as  I  have  said,  that  flask  of  holy  oil  was  sent  for,  while 
we  waited.  A  coronation  without  that  would  not  have  been 
a  coronation  at  all,  in  my  belief. 


274 


Now  in  order  to  get  the  flask,  a  most  ancient  ceremonial  had 
to  be  gone  through  with ;  otherwise  the  Abbe  of  St.  Remi, 
hereditary  guardian  in  perpetuity  of  the  oil,  would  not  deliver 
it.  So,  in  accordance  with  custom,  the  King  deputed  five  great 
nobles  to  ride  in  solemn  state  and  richly  armed  and  accou 
tred,  they  and  their  steeds,  to  the  Abbey  Church  as  a  guard 
of  honor  to  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims  and  his  canons,  who 
were  to  bear  the  King's  demand  for  the  oil.  When  the  five 
great  lords  were  ready  to  start,  they  knelt  in  a  row  and  put  up 
their  mailed  hands  before  their  faces,  palm  joined  to  palm, 
and  swore  upon  their  lives  to  conduct  the  sacred  vessel  safely, 
and  safely  restore  it  again  to  the  Church  of  St.  Remi  after  the 
anointing  of  the  King.  The  Archbishop  and  his  subordinates, 
thus  nobly  escorted,  took  their  way  to  St.  Remi.  The  Arch 
bishop  was  in  grand  costume,  \vith  his  mitre  on  his  head  and 
his  cross  in  his  hand.  At  the  door  of  St.  Remi  they  halted 
and  formed,  to  receive  the  holy  phial.  Soon  one  heard  the 
deep  tones  of  the  organ  and  of  chanting  men ;  then  one  saw 
a  long  file  of  lights  approaching  through  the  dim  church.  And 
so  came  the  Abbot,  in  his  sacerdotal  panoply,  bearing  the 
phial,  with  his  people  following  after.  He  delivered  it, 
with  solemn  ceremonies,  to  the  Archbishop ;  then  the  march 
back  began,  and  it  was  most  impressive ;  for  it  moved,  the 
whole  way,  between  two  multitudes  of  men  and  women  who 
lay  flat  upon  their  faces  and  prayed  in  dumb  silence  and 
in  dread  while  that  awful  thing  went  by  that  had  been  in 
heaven. 

This  august  company  arrived  at  the  great  west  door  of  the 
cathedral ;  and  as  the  Archbishop  entered  a  noble  anthem 
rose  and  filled  the  vast  building.  The  cathedral  was  packed 
with  people — people  in  thousands.  Only  a  wide  space  down 
the  centre  had  been  kept  free.  Down  this  space  walked  the 
Archbishop  and  his  canons,  and  after  them  followed  those  five 
stately  figures  in  splendid  harness,  each  bearing  his  feudal 
banner — and  riding  ! 

Oh,  that  was  a  magnificent  thing  to  see.  Riding  down  the 
cavernous  vastness  of  the  building  through  the  rich  lights 


275 

streaming  in  long  rays  from  the  pictured  windows — oh,  there 
was  never  anything  so  grand  ! 

They  rode  clear  to  the  choir  —  as  much  as  four  hundred 
feet  from  the  door,  it  was  said.  Then  the  Archbishop  dis 
missed  them,  and  they  made  deep  obeisance  till  their  plumes 
touched  their  horses'  necks,  then  made  those  proud  prancing 
and  mincing  and  dancing  creatures  go  backwards  all  the  way 
to  the  door — which  was  pretty  to  see,  and  graceful ;  then  they 
stood  them  on  their  hind-feet  and  spun  them  around  and 
plunged  away  and  disappeared. 

For  some  minutes  there  was  a  deep  hush,  a  waiting  pause ; 
a  silence  so  profound  that  it  was  as  if  all  those  packed  thou 
sands  there  were  steeped  in  dreamless  slumber  —  why,  you 
could  even  notice  the  faintest  sounds,  like  the  drowsy  buz 
zing  of  insects ;  then  came  a  mighty  flood  of  rich  strains 
from  four  hundred  silver  trumpets,  and  then,  framed  in  the 
pointed  archway  of  the  great  west  door,  appeared  Joan  and 
the  King.  They  advanced  slowly,  side  by  side,  through  a 
tempest  of  welcome — explosion  after  explosion  of  cheers  and 
cries,  mingled  with  the  deep  thunders  of  the  organ  and  roll 
ing  tides  of  triumphant  song  from  chanting  choirs.  Behind 
Joan  and  the  King  came  the  Paladin  with  the  Banner  dis 
played  ;  and  a  majestic  figure  he  was,  and  most  proud  and 
lofty  in  his  bearing,  for  he  knew  that  the  people  were  mark 
ing  him  and  taking  note  of  the  gorgeous  state  dress  which 
covered  his  armor. 

At  his  side  was  the  Sire  d'Albret,  proxy  for  the  Constable 
of  France,  bearing  the  Sword  of  State. 

After  these,  in  order  of  rank,  came  a  body  royally  attired  rep 
resenting  the  lay  peers  of  France  ;  it  consisted  of  three  princes 
of  the  blood,  and  La  Tremouille  and  the  young  De  Laval  brothers. 

These  were  followed  by  the  representatives  of  the  ecclesi 
astical  peers — the  Archbishop  of  Rheims,  and  the  Bishops  of 
Laon,  Chalons,  Orleans,  and  one  other. 

Behind  these  came  the  Grand  Staff,  all  our  great  generals 
and  famous  names,  and  everybody  was  eager  to  get  a  sight  of 
them.  Through  all  the  din  one  could  hear  shouts,  all  along, 


276  ,     . 

that  told  you  where  two  of  them  were :  "  Live  the  Bastard  of 
Orle'ans  !"  "  Satan  La  Hire  forever  !" 

The  august  procession  reached  its  appointed  place  in  time, 
and  the  solemnities  of  the  Coronation  began.  They  were 
long  and  imposing — with  prayers,  and  anthems,  and  sermons, 
and  everything  that  is  right  for  such  occasions  ;  and  Joan  was 
at  the  King's  side  all  these  hours,  with  her  Standard  in  her 
hand.  But  at  last  came  the  grand  act :  the  King  took  the 
oath,  he  was  anointed  with  the  sacred  oil ;  a  splendid  per 
sonage,  followed  by  train-bearers  and  other  attendants,  ap 
proached,  bearing  the  Crown  of  France  upon  a  cushion,  and 
kneeling  offered  it.  The  King  seemed  to  hesitate — in  fact 
did  hesitate;  for  he  put  out  his  hand  and  then  stopped  with 
it  there  in  the  air  over  the  crown,  the  fingers  in  the  attitud.e 
of  taking  hold  of  it.  But  that  was  for  only  a  moment — though 
a  moment  is  a  notable  something  when  it  stops  the  heart-beat 
of  twenty  thousand  people  and  makes  them  catch  their 
breath.  Yes,  only  a  moment ;  then  he  caught  Joan's  eye,  and 
she  gave  him  a  look  with  all  the  joy  of  her  thankful  great 
soul  in  it,  then  he  smiled,  and  took  the  Crown  of  France  in 
his  hand,  and  right  finely  and  right  royally  lifted  it  up  and 
set  it  upon  his  head. 

Then  what  a  crash  there  was  !  All  about  us  cries  and 
cheers,  and  the  chanting  of  the  choirs  and  groaning  of  the 
organ ;  and  outside  the  clamoring  of  the  bells  and  the  boom 
ing  of  the  cannon. 

The  fantastic  dream,  the  incredible  dream,  the  impossible 
dream  of  the  peasant  child  stood  fulfilled  :  the  English  power 
was  broken,  the  Heir  of  France  was  crowned. 

She  was  like  one  transfigured,  so  divine  was  the  joy  that 
shone  in  her  face  as  she  sank  to  her  knees  at  the  King's 
feet  and  looked  up  at  him  through  her  tears.  Her  lips  were 
quivering,  and  her  words  came  soft  and  low  and  broken : 

"  Now,  oh  gentle  King,  is  the  pleasure  of  God  accomplished 
according  to  his  command  that  you  should  come  to  Rheims 
and  receive  the  crown  that  belongeth  of  right  to  you,  and 
unto  none  other.  My  work  which  was  given  me  to  do  is  fin- 


277 


ished  ;  give  me  your  peace,  and  let  me  go  back  to  my  mother, 
who  is  poor  and  old,  and  has  need  of  me." 

The  King  raised  her  up,  and  there  before  all  that  host  he 
praised  her  great  deeds  in  most  noble  terms ;  and  there  he 
confirmed  her  nobility  and  titles,  making  her  the  equal  of  a 
count  in  rank,  and  also  appointed  a  household  and  officers 
for  her  according  to  her  dignity ;  and  then  he  said  : 

"  You  have  saved  the  crown.  Speak — require — demand  ; 
and  whatsoever  grace  you  ask  it  shall  be  granted,  though  it 
make  the  kingdom  poor  to  meet  it." 

Now  that  was  fine,  that  was  royal.  Joan  was  on  her  knees 
again  straightway,  and  said  : 

"  Then,  oh  gentle  King,  if  out  of  your  compassion  you  will 
speak  the  word,  I  pray  you  give  commandment  that  my  village, 
poor  and  hard  pressed  by  reason  of  the  war,  may  have  its 
taxes  remitted." 

"  It  is  so  commanded.     Say  on." 

"  That  is  all." 

"  All  ?     Nothing  but  that  ?" 

"  It  is  all.     I  have  no  other  desire." 

"  But  that  is  nothing — less  than  nothing.  Ask — do  not  be 
afraid." 

"  Indeed  I  cannot,  gentle  King.  Do  not  press  me.  I  will 
not  have  aught  else,  but  only  this  alone." 

The  King  seemed  nonplussed,  and  stood  still  a  moment, 
as  if  trying  to  comprehend  and  realize  the  full  stature  of  this 
strange  unselfishness.  Then  he  raised  his  head  and  said  : 

"She  has  won  a  kingdom  and  crowned  its  King;  and  all 
she  asks  and  all  she  will  take  is  this  poor  grace — and  even 
this  is  for  others,  not  for  herself.  And  it  is  well ;  her  act 
being  proportioned  to  the  dignity  of  one  who  carries  in  her 
head  and  heart  riches  which  outvalue  any  that  any  King  could 
add,  though  he  gave  his  all.  She  shall  have  her  way.  Now 
therefore  it  is  decreed  that  from  this  day  forth  Domremy, 
natal  village  of  Joan  of  Arc,  Deliverer  of  France,  called  the 
Maid  of  Orleans,  is  freed  from  all  taxation  forever."  Where 
at  the  silver  horns  blew  a  jubilant  blast. 


278 


There,  you  see,  she  had  had  a  vision  of  this  very  scene  the 
time  she  was  in  a  trance  in  the  pastures  of  Domremy,  and  we 
asked  her  to  name  the  boon  she  would  demand  of  the  King 
if  he  should  ever  chance  to  tell  her  she  might  claim  one.  But 
whether  she  had  the  vision  or  not,  this  act  showed  that  after 
all  the  dizzy  grandeurs  that  had  come  upon  her,  she  was  still 
the  same  simple  unselfish  creature  that  she  was  that  day. 

Yes,  Charles  VII.  remitted  those  taxes  "forever."  Often 
the  gratitude  of  kings  and  nations  fades  and  their  promises 
are  forgotten  or  deliberately  violated ;  but  you,  who  are  chil 
dren  of  France,  should  remember  with  pride  that  France  has 
kept  this  one  faithfully.  Sixty-three  years  have  gone  by  since 
that  day.  The  taxes  of  the  region  wherein  Domremy  lies 
have  been  collected  sixty-three  times  since  then,  and  all  the 
villages  of  that  region  have  paid  except  that  one — Domremy. 
The  tax-gatherer  never  visits  Domremy.  Domremy  has  long 
ago  forgotten  what  that  dreaded  sorrow-sowing  apparition  is 
like.  Sixty-three  tax-books  have  been  filled  meantime,  and 
they  lie  yonder  with  the  other  public  records,  and  any  may 
see  them  that  desire  it.  At  the  top  of  every  page  in  the  sixty- 
three  books  stands  the  name  of  a  village,  and  below  that  name 
its  weary  burden  of  taxation  is  figured  out  and  displayed;  in 
the  case  of  all  save  one.  It  is  true,  just  as  I  tell  you.  In 
each  of  the  sixty-three  books  there  is  a  page  headed  "  Dom- 
remi,"  but  under  that  name  not  a  figure  appears.  Where  the 
figures  should  be,  there  are  three  words  written ;  and  the 
same  words  have  been  written  every  year  for  all  these  years ; 
yes,  it  is  a  blank  page,  with  always  those  grateful  words  let 
tered  across  the  face  of  it — a  touching  memorial.  Thus  : 


DOM RE MI 


KIEN — LA    PUCELLE 


279 

"NOTHING— THE  MAID  OF  ORLEANS."  How  brief  it  is; 
yet  how  much  it  says  !  It  is  the  nation  speaking.  You  have 
the  spectacle  of  that  unsentimental  thing,  a  Government, 
making  reverence  to  that  name  and  saying  to  its  agent,  "  Un 
cover,  and  pass  on ;  it  is  France  that  commands"  Yes,  the  prom 
ise  has  been  kept ;  it  will  be  kept  always  ;  "  forever  "  was  the 
King's  word.* 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  ceremonies  of  the  Coro 
nation  came  at  last  to  an  end;  then  the  procession  formed 
once  more,  with  Joan  and  the  King  at  its  head,  and  took  up 
its  solemn  march  through  the  midst  of  the  church,  all  in 
struments  and  all  people  making  such  clamor  of  rejoicing 
noises  as  was  indeed  a  marvel  to  hear.  And  so  ended  the 
third  of  the  great  days  of  Joan's  life.  And  how  close  together 
they  stand— May  8th,  June  i8th,  July  i;th  ! 

*  It  was  faithfully  kept  during  three  hundred  and  sixty  years  and  more  ; 
then  the  over-confident  octogenarian's  prophecy  failed.  During  the  tu 
mult  of  the  French  Revolution  the  promise  was  forgotten  and  the  grace 
withdrawn.  It  has  remained  in  disuse  ever  since.  Joan  never  asked  to  be 
remembered,  but  France  has  remembered  her  with  an  inextinguishable 
love  and  reverence  ;  Joan  never  asked  for  a  statue,  but  France  has  lavished 
them  upon  her  ;  Joan  never  asked  for  a  church  for  Domremy,  but  France 
is  building  one  ;  Joan  never  asked  for  saintship,  but  even  that  is  impend 
ing.  Everything  which  Joan  of  Arc  did  not  ask  for  has  been  given  her, 
and  with  a  noble  profusion  ;  but  the  one  humble  little  thing  which  she  did 
ask  for  and  get,  has  been  taken  away  from  her.  There  is  something  in 
finitely  pathetic  about  this.  France  owes  Domremy  a  hundred  years  of 
taxes,  and  could  hardly  find  a  citizen  within  her  borders  who  would  vote 
against  the  payment  of  the  debt. — NOTE  BY  THE  TRANSLATOR. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

WE  mounted  and  rode,  a  spectacle  to  remember,  a  most 
noble  display  of  rich  vestments  and  nodding  plumes,  and  as 
we  moved  between  the  banked  multitudes  they  sank  down  all 
along  abreast  of  us  as  we  advanced,  like  grain  before  the 
reaper,  and  kneeling  hailed  with  a  rousing  welcome  the  con 
secrated  King  and  his  companion  the  Deliverer  of  France. 
But  by-and-by  when  we  had  paraded  about  the  chief  parts  of 
the  city  and  were  come  near  to  the  end  of  our  course,  we  be 
ing  now  approaching  the  Archbishop's  palace,  one  saw  on  the 
right,  hard  by  the  inn  that  is  called  the  Zebra,  a  strange  thing 
—two  men  not  kneeling  but  standing !  Standing  in  the  front 
rank  of  the  kneelers ;  unconscious,  transfixed,  staring.  Yes, 
and  clothed  in  the  coarse  garb  of  the  peasantry,  these  two. 
Two  halberdiers  sprang  at  them  in  a  fury  to  teach  them  better 
manners ;  but  just  as  they  seized  them  Joan  cried  out  "  For 
bear  !"  and  slid  from  her  saddle  and  flung  her  arms  about  one 
of  those  peasants,  calling  him  by  all  manner  of  endearing 
names,  and  sobbing.  For  it  was  her  father ;  and  the  other 
was  her  uncle  Laxart. 

The  news  flew  everywhere,  and  shouts  of  welcome  were 
raised,  and  in  just  one  little  moment  those  two  despised  and 
unknown  plebeians  were  become  famous  and  popular  and  en 
vied,  and  everybody  was  in  a  fever  to  get  sight  of  them  and 
be  able  to  say,  all  their  lives  long,  that  they  had  seen  the 
father  of  Joan  of  Arc  and  the  brother  of  her  mother.  How 
easy  it  was  for  her  to  do  miracles  like  to  this  !  She  was  like 
the  sun ;  on  whatsoever  dim  and  humble  object  her  rays  fell, 
that  thing  was  straightway  drowned  in  glory. 

All  graciously  the  King  said  : 


28l 


"  Bring  them  to  me." 

And  she  brought  them ;  she  radiant  with  happiness  and 
affection,  they  trembling  and  scared,  with  their  caps  in  their 
shaking  hands ;  and  there  before  all  the  world  the  King  gave 
them  his  hand  to  kiss,  while  the  people  gazed  in  envy  and 
admiration;  and  he  said  to  old  D'Arc — 

"  Give  God  thanks  for  that  you  are  father  to  this  child, 
this  dispenser  of  immortalities.  You  who  bear  a  name  that 
will  still  live  in  the  mouths  of  men  when  all  the  race  of  Kings 
has  been  forgotten,  it  is  not  meet  that  you  bare  your  head 
before  the  fleeting  fames  and  dignities  of  a  day — cover  your 
self !"  And  truly  he  looked  right  fine  and  princely  when  he 
said  that.  Then  he  gave  order  that  the  Bailly  of  Rheims  be 
brought ;  and  when  he  was  come,  and  stood  bent  low  and 
bare,  the  King  said  to  him,  "These  two  are  guests  of  France"; 
and  bade  him  use  them  hospitably. 

I  may  as  well  say  now  as  later,  that  Papa  D'Arc  and  La- 
xart  were  stopping  in  that  little  Zebra  inn,  and  that  there  they 
remained.  Finer  quarters  were  offered  them  by  the  Bailly, 
also  public  distinctions  and  brave  entertainment ;  but  they 
were  frightened  at  these  projects,  they  being  only  humble  and 
ignorant  peasants  :  so  they  begged  off,  and  had  peace.  They 
could  not  have  enjoyed  such  things.  Poor  souls,  they  did  not 
even  know  what  to  do  with  their  hands,  and  it  took  all  their 
attention  to  keep  from  treading  on  them.  The  Bailly  did  the 
best  he  could  in  the  circumstances.  He  made  the  innkeeper 
place  a  wh©le  floor  at  their  disposal,  and  told  him  to  provide 
everything  they  might  desire,  and  charge  all  to  the  city. 
Also  the  Bailly  gave  them  a  horse  apiece,  and  furnishings ; 
which  so  overwhelmed  them  with  pride  and  delight  and  as 
tonishment  that  they  couldn't  speak  a  word ;  for  in  their 
lives  they  had  never  dreamed  of  wealth  like  this,  and  could 
not  believe,  at  first,  that  the  horses  were  real  and  would  not 
dissolve  to  a  mist  and  blow  away.  They  could  not  unglue 
their  minds  from  those  grandeurs,  and  were  always  wrenching 
the  conversation  out  of  its  groove  and  dragging  the  matter 
of  animals  into  it,  so  that  they  could  say  "  my  horse  "  here, 


282 


and  "  my  horse  "  there  and  yonder  and  all  around,  and  taste 
the  words  and  lick  their  chops  over  them,  and  spread  their 
legs  and  hitch  their  thumbs  in  their  armpits,  and  feel  as  the 
good  God  feels  when  He  looks  out  on  His  fleets  of  constella 
tions  ploughing  the  awful  deeps  of  space  and  reflects  with  sat 
isfaction  that  they  are  His — all  His.  Well,  they  were  the  hap 
piest  old  children  one  ever  saw,  and  the  simplest. 

The  city  gave  a  grand  banquet  to  the  King  and  Joan  in 
mid-afternoon,  and  to  the  Court  and  the  Grand  Staff;  and 
about  the  middle  of  it  Pere  d'Arc  and  Laxart  were  sent  for, 
but  would  not  venture  until  it  was  promised  that  they  might 
sit  in  a  gallery  and  be  all  by  themselves  and  see  all  that  was 
to  be  seen  and  yet  be  unmolested.  And  so  they  sat  there 
and  looked  down  upon  the  splendid  spectacle,  and  were 
moved  till  the  tears  ran  down  their  cheeks  to  see  the  unbe 
lievable  honors  that  were  paid  to  their  small  darling,  and  how 
naively  serene  and  unafraid  she  sat  there  with  those  consum 
ing  glories  beating  upon  her. 

But  at  last  her  serenity  was  broken  up.  Yes,  it  stood  the 
strain  of  the  King's  gracious  speech;  and  of  D'Alenc.on's 
praiseful  words,  and  the  Bastard's ;  and  even  La  Hire's  thun 
der-blast,  which  took  the  place  by  storm ;  but  at  last,  as  I 
have  said,  they  brought  a  force  to  bear  which  was  too  strong 
for  her.  For  at  the  close  the  King  put  up  his  hand  to  com 
mand  silence,  and  so  waited,  with  his  hand  up,  till  every 
sound  was  dead  and  it  was  as  if  one  could  almost  feel  the 
stillness,  so  profound  it  was.  Then  out  of  some  remote  cor 
ner  of  that  vast  place  there  rose  a  plaintive  voice,  and  in 
tones  most  tender  and  sweet  and  rich  came  floating  through 
that  enchanted  hush  our  poor  old  simple  song  "  L'Arbre  Fee 
de  Bourlemont!"  and  then  Joan  broke  down  and  put  her  face 
in  her  hands  and  cried.  Yes,  you  see,  all  in  a  moment  the 
pomps  and  grandeurs  dissolved  away  and  she  was  a  little 
child  again  herding  her  sheep  with  the  tranquil  pastures 
stretched  about  her,  and  war  and  wounds  and  blood  and 
death  and  the  mad  frenzy  and  turmoil  of  battle  a  dream.  Ah, 
that  shows  you  the  power  of  music,  that  magician  of  magi- 


cians ;  who  lifts  his  wand  and  says  his  mysterious  word  and 
all  things  real  pass  away  and  the  phantoms  of  your  mind 
walk  before  you  clothed  in  flesh. 

That  was  the  King's  invention,  that  sweet  and  dear  surprise. 
Indeed,  he  had  fine  things  hidden  away  in  his  nature,  though 
one  seldom  got  a  glimpse  of  them,  with  that  scheming  Tre- 
mouille  and  those  others  always  standing  in  the  light,  and 
he  so  indolently  content  to  save  himself  fuss  and  argument 
and  let  them  have  their  way. 

At  the  fall  of  night  we  the  Domremy  contingent  of  the  per 
sonal  staff  were  with  the  father  and  uncle  at  the  inn,  in  their 
private  parlor,  brewing  generous  drinks  and  breaking  ground 
for  a  homely  talk  about  Domremy  and  the  neighbors,  when  a 
large  parcel  arrived  from  Joan  to  be  kept  till  she  came  ;  and 
soon  she  came  herself  and  sent  her  guard  away,  saying  she 
would  take  one  of  her  father's  rooms  and  sleep  under  his 
roof,  and  so  be  at  home  again.  We  of  the  staff  rose  and 
stood,  as  was  meet,  until  she  made  us  sit.  Then  she  turned 
and  saw  that  the  two  old  men  had  gotten  up  too,  and  were 
standing  in  an  embarrassed  and  unmilitary  way ;  which  made 
her  want  to  laugh,  but  she  kept  it  in,  as  not  wishing  to  hurt 
them  ;  and  got  them  to  their  seats  and  snuggled  down  be 
tween  them,  and  took  a  hand  of  each  of  them  upon  her 
knees  and  nestled  her  own  hands  in  them,  and  said— 

"  Now  we  will  have  no  more  ceremony,  but  be  kin  and 
playmates  as  in  other  times ;  for  I  am  done  with  the  great 
wars,  now,  and  you  two  will  take  me  home  with  you,  and  I  shall 
see —  She  stopped,  and  for  a  moment  her  happy  face  so 
bered,  as  if  a  doubt  or  a  presentiment  had  flitted  through  her 
mind;  then  it  cleared  again,  and  she  said,  with  a  passionate 
yearning,  "Oh,  if  the  day  were  but  come  and  we  could 
start !" 

The  old  father  was  surprised,  and  said — 

"  Why,  child,  are  you  in  earnest  ?  Would  you  leave  doing 
these  wonders  that  make  you  to  be  praised  by  everybody 
while  there  is  still  so  much  glory  to  be  won ;  and  would  you 
go  out  from  this  grand  comradeship  with  princes  and  generals 


284 


to  be  a  drudging  villager  again  and  a  nobody?  It  is  not 
rational." 

"  No,"  said  the  uncle,  Laxart,  "  it  is  amazing  to  hear,  and 
indeed  not  understandable.  It  is  a  stranger  thing  to  hear 
her  say  she  will  stop  the  soldiering  than  it  was  to  hear  her 
say  she  would  begin  it ;  and  I  who  speak  to  you  can  say  in 
all  truth  that  that  was  the  strangest  word  that  ever  I  had 
heard  till  this  day  and  hour.  I  would  it  could  be  explained." 

"It  is  not  difficult,"  said  Joan.  "I  was  not  ever  fond  of 
wounds  and  suffering,  nor  fitted  by  my  nature  to  inflict 
them ;  and  quarrellings  did  always  distress  me,  and  noise 
and  tumult  were  against  my  liking,  my  disposition  being  tow 
ard  peace  and  quietness,  and  love  for  all  things  that  have 
life ;  and  being  made  like  this,  how  could  I  bear  to  think  of 
wars  and  blood,  and  the  pain  that  goes  with  them,  and  the 
sorrow  and  mourning  that  follow  after  ?  But  by  his  angels 
God  laid  His  great  commands  upon  me,  and  could  I  disobey? 
I  did  as  I  was  bid.  Did  he  command  me  to  do  many  things  ? 
No ;  only  two :  to  raise  the  siege  of  Orleans,  and  crown  the 
King  at  Rheims.  The  task  is  finished,  and  I  am  free.  Has 
ever  a  poor  soldier  fallen  in  my  sight,  whether  friend  or  foe, 
and  I  not  felt  his  pain  in  my  own  body,  and  the  grief  of  his 
home-mates  in  my  own  heart  ?  No,  not  one ;  and,  oh,  it  is 
such  bliss  to  know  that  my  release  is  won,  and  that  I  shall 
not  any  more  see  these  cruel  things  or  suffer  these  tortures 
of  the  mind  again  !  Then  why  should  I  not  go  to  my  village 
and  be  as  I  was  before  ?  It  is  heaven  !  and  ye  wonder  that  I 
desire  it.  Ah,  ye  are  men  —  just  men!  My  mother  would 
understand." 

They  didn't  quite  know  what  to  say;  so  they  sat  still 
awhile,  looking  pretty  vacant.  Then  old  D'Arc  said — 

"Yes,  your  mother  —  that  is  true.  I  never  saw  such  a 
woman.  She  worries,  and  worries,  and  worries ;  and  wakes 
nights,  and  lies  so,  thinking  —  that  is,  worrying;  worrying 
about  you.  And  when  the  night-storms  go  raging  along,  she 
moans  and  says,  *  Ah,  God  pity  her,  she  is  out  in  this  with 
her  poor  wet  soldiers.'  And  when  the  lightning  glares  and 


the  thunder  crashes  she  wrings  her  hands  and  trembles,  say 
ing,  '  It  is  like  the  awful  cannon  and  the  flash,  and  yonder 
somewhere  she  is  riding  down  upon  the  spouting  guns  and  I 
not  there  to  protect  her.'  " 

"  Ah,  poor  mother,  it  is  pity,  it  is  pity  f 

"Yes,  a  most  strange  woman,  as  I  have  noticed  a  many 
times.  When  there  is  news  of  a  victory  and  all  the  village 
goes  mad  with  pride  and  joy,  she  rushes  here  and  there  in  a 
maniacal  frenzy  till  she  finds  out  the  one  only  thing  she  cares 
to  know  —  that  you  are  safe;  then  down  she  goes  on  her 
knees  in  the  dirt  and  praises  God  as  long  as  there  is  any 
breath  left  in  her  body ;  and  all  on  your  account,  for  she 
never  mentions  the  battle  once.  And  always  she  says,  ''Now 
it  is  over — now  France  is  saved— »0o>  she  will  come  home ' — 
and  always  is  disappointed  and  goes  about  mourning." 

"Don't,  father!  it  breaks  my  heart.  I  will  be  so  good  to 
her  when  I  get  home.  I  will  do  her  work  for  her,  and  be  her 
comfort,  and  she  shall  not  suffer  any  more  through  me." 

There  was  some  more  talk  of  this  sort,  then  Uncle  Laxart 
said — 

"  You  have  done  the  will  of  God,  dear,  and  are  quits ;  it  is 
true,  and  none  may  deny  it ;  but  what  of  the  King  ?  You  are 
his  best  soldier;  what  if  he  command  you  to  stay?" 

That  was  a  crusher — and  sudden  !  It  took  Joan  a  moment 
or  two  to  recover  from  the  shock  of  it ;  then  she  said,  quite 
simply  and  resignedly : 

"  The  King  is  my  Lord  ;  I  am  his  servant."  She  was  silent 
and  thoughtful  a  little  while,  then  she  brightened  up  and 
said,  cheerily,  "  But  let  us  drive  such  thoughts  away — this  is 
no  time  for  them.  Tell  me  about  home." 

So  the  two  old  gossips  talked  and  talked ;  talked  about 
everything  and  everybody  in  the  village ;  and  it  was  good  to 
hear.  Joan  out  of  her  kindness  tried  to  get  us  into  the  con 
versation,  but  that  failed,  of  course.  She  was  the  Command- 
er-in-Chief,  we  were  nobodies ;  her  name  was  the  mightiest  in 
France,  we  were  invisible  atoms ;  she  was  the  comrade  of 
princes  and  heroes,  we  of  the  humble  and  obscure ;  she  held 


286 


rank  above  all  Personages  and  all  Puissances  whatsoever  in 
the  whole  earth,  by  right  of  bearing  her  commission  direct 
from  God.  To  put  it  in  one  word,  she  was  JOAN  OF  ARC — 
and  when  that  is  said,  all  is  said.  To  us  she  was  divine. 
Between  her  and  us  lay  the  bridgeless  abyss  which  that  word 
implies.  We  could  not  be  familiar  with  her.  No,  you  can 
see  yourselves  that  that  would  have  been  impossible. 

And  yet  she  was  so  human,  too,  and  so  good  and  kind  and 
dear  and  loving  and  cheery  and  charming  and  unspoiled  and 
unaffected !  Those  are  all  the  words  I  think  of  now,  but 
they  are  not  enough ;  no,  they  are  too  few  and  colorless  and 
meagre  to  tell  it  all,  or  tell  the  half.  Those  simple  old  men 
didn't  realize  her ;  they  couldn't ;  they  had  never  known  any 
people  but  human  beings,  and  so  they  had  no  other  standard 
to  measure  her  by.  To  them,  after  their  first  little  shyness 
had  worn  off,  she  was  just  a  girl — that  was  all.  It  was  amaz 
ing.  It  made  one  shiver,  sometimes,  to  see  how  calm  and 
easy  and  comfortable  they  were  in  her  presence,  and  hear 
them  talk  to  her  exactly  as  they  would  have  talked  to  any 
other  girl  in  France. 

Why,  that  simple  old  Laxart  sat  up  there  and  droned  out 
the  most  tedious  and  empty  tale  one  ever  heard,  and  neither 
he  nor  Papa  D'Arc  ever  gave  a  thought  to  the  badness  of  the 
etiquette  of  it,  or  ever  suspected  that  that  foolish  tale  was 
anything  but  dignified  and  valuable  history.  There  was  not  an 
atom  oLvalue  in  it ;  and  whilst  they  thought  it  distressing  and 
pathetic,  it  was  in  fact  not  pathetic  at  all,  but  actually  ridicu 
lous.  At  least  it  seemed  so  to  me,  and  it  seems  so  yet.  Indeed 
I  know  it  was,  because  it  made  Joan  laugh  ;  and  the  more  sor 
rowful  it  got  the  more  it  made  her  laugh ;  and  the  Paladin 
said  that  he  could  have  laughed  himself  if  she  had  not  been 
there,  and  Noel  Rainguesson  said  the  same.  It  was  about 
old  Laxart  going  to  a  funeral  there  at  Domremy  two  or  three 
weeks  back.  He  had  spots  all  over  his  face  and  hands,  and 
he  got  Joan  to  rub  some  healing  ointment  on  them,  and 
while  she  was  doing  it,  and  comforting  him,  and  trying  to  say 
pitying  things  to  him,  he  told  her  how  it  happened.  And  first 


28; 


he  asked  her  if  she  remembered  that  black  bull  calf  that  she 
left  behind  when  she  came  away,  and  she  said  indeed  she  did, 
and  he  was  a  dear,  and  she  loved  him  so,  and  was  he  well? — 
and  just  drowned  him  in  questions  about  that  creature.  And 
he  said  it  was  a  young  bull  now,  and  very  frisky;  and  he 
was  to  bear  a  principal  hand  at  a  funeral ;  and  she  said,  "The 
bull  ?"  and  he  said  "  No,  myself"  ;  but  said  the  bull  did  take 
a  hand,  but  not  because  of  his  being  invited,  for  he  wasn't; 
but  anyway  he  was  away  over  beyond  the  Fairy  Tree,  and  fell 
asleep  on  the  grass  with  his  Sunday  funeral  clothes  on,  and  a 
long  black  rag  on  his  hat  and  hanging  down  his  back ;  and 
when  he  woke  he  saw  by  the  sun  how  late  it  was,  and  not  a 
moment  to  lose;  and  jumped  up  terribly  worried,  and  saw 
the  young  bull  grazing  there,  and  thought  maybe  he  could 
ride  part  way  on  him  and  gain  time  ;  so  he  tied  a  rope  around 
the  bull's  body  to  hold  on  by,  and  put  a  halter  on  him  to 
steer  with,  and  jumped  on  and  started;  but  it  was  all  new  to 
the  bull,  and  he  was  discontented  with  it,  and  scurried  around 
and  bellowed  and  reared  and  pranced,  and  Uncle  Laxart  was 
satisfied,  and  wanted  to  get  off  and  go  by  the  next  bull  or 
some  other  way  that  was  quieter,  but  he  didn't  dare  try ;  and 
it  was  getting  very  warm  for  him,  too,  and  disturbing  and 
wearisome,  and  not  proper  for  Sunday ;  but  by-and-by  the 
bull  lost  all  his  temper,  and  went  tearing  down  the  slope  with 
his  tail  in  the  air  and  bellowing  in  the  most  awful  way ;  and 
just  in  the  edge  of  the  village  he  knocked  down  some  bee 
hives,  and  the  bees  turned  out  and  joined  the  excursion,  and 
soared  along  in  a  black  cloud  that  nearly  hid  those  other  two 
from  sight,  and  prodded  them  both,  and  jabbed  them  and 
speared  them  and  spiked  them,  and  made  them  bellow  and 
shriek,  and  shriek  and  bellow ;  and  here  they  came  roaring 
through  the  village  like  a  hurricane,  and  took  the  funeral  pro 
cession  right  in  the  centre,  and  sent  that  section  of  it  sprawl 
ing,  and  galloped  over  it,  and  the  rest  scattered  apart  and  fled 
screeching  in  every  direction,  every  person  with  a  layer  of 
bees  on  him,  and  not  a  rag  of  that  funeral  left  but  the  corpse; 
and  finally  the  bull  broke  for  the  river  and  jumped  in,  and 


288 


when  they  fished  Uncle  Laxart  out  he  was  nearly  drowned,  and 
his  face  looked  like  a  pudding  with  raisins  in  it.  And  then 
he  turned  around,  this  old  simpleton,  and  looked  a  long  time 
in  a  dazed  way  at  Joan  where  she  had  her  face  in  a  cushion, 
dying,  apparently,  and  says — 

"  What  do  you  reckon  she  is  laughing  at  ?" 

And  old  D'Arc  stood  looking  at  her  the  same  way,  sort  of 
absently  scratching  his  head  ;  but  had  to  give  it  up,  and  said 
he  didn't  know — "  must  have  been  something  that  happened 
when  we  weren't  noticing." 

Yes,  both  of  those  old  people  thought  that  that  tale  was  pa 
thetic  ;  whereas  to  my  mind  it  was  purely  ridiculous,  and  not  in 
any  way  valuable  to  any  one.  It  seemed  so  to  me  then,  and  it 
seems  so  to  me  yet.  And  as  for  history,  it  does  not  resemble 
history,  for  the  office  of  history  is  to  furnish  serious  and  im 
portant  facts  that  teach;  whereas  this  strange  and  useless 
event  teaches  nothing;  nothing  that  I  can  see,  except  not 
to  ride  a  bull  to  a  funeral ;  and  surely  no  reflecting  person 
needs  to  be  taught  that. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

Now  these  were  nobles,  you  know,  by  decree  of  the  King ! 
— these  precious  old  infants.  But  they  did  not  realize  it ; 
they  could  not  be  called  conscious  of  it ;  it  was  an  abstraction, 
a  phantom ;  to  them  it  had  no  substance ;  their  minds  could 
not  take  hold  of  it.  No,  they  did  not  bother  about  their  no 
bility  ;  they  lived  in  their  horses.  The  horses  were  solid ; 
they  were  visible  facts,  and  would  make  a  mighty  stir  in 
Domremy.  Presently  something  was  said  about  the  Corona 
tion,  and  old  D'Arc  said  it  was  going  to  be  a  grand  thing  to 
be  able  to  say,  when  they  got  home,  that  they  were  present  in 
the  very  town  itself  when  it  happened.  Joan  looked  troubled, 
and  said — 

"  Ah,  that  reminds  me.  You  were  here  and  you  didn't  send 
me  word.  In  the  town,  indeed !  Why,  you  could  have  sat 
with  the  other  nobles,  and  been  welcome ;  and  could  have 
looked  upon  the  crowning  itself,  and  carried  that  home  to  tell. 
Ah,  why  did  you  use  me  so,  and  send  me  no  word  ?" 

The  old  father  was  embarrassed,  now,  quite  visibly  embar 
rassed,  and  had  the  air  of  one  who  does  not  quite  know  what 
to  say.  But  Joan  was  looking  up  in  his  face,  her  hands  upon 
his  shoulders — waiting.  He  had  to  speak;  so  presently  he 
drew  her  to  his  breast,  which  was  heaving  with  emotion ;  and 
he  said,  getting  out  his  words  with  difficulty — 

"  There,  hide  your  face,  child,  and  let  your  old  father  hum 
ble  himself  and  make  his  confession.  I — I — don't  you  see, 
don't  you  understand  ? — I  could  not  know  that  these  gran 
deurs  would  not  turn  your  young  head — it  would  be  only  nat 
ural.  I  might  shame  you  before  these  great  per — " 

"  Father !" 


290 

"And  then  I  was  afraid,  as  remembering  that  cruel  thing  I 
said  once  in  my  sinful  anger.  Oh,  appointed  of  God  to  be  a 
soldier,  and  the  greatest  in  the  land !  and  in  my  ignorant 
anger  I  said  I  would  drown  you  with  my  own  hands  if  you 
unsexed  yourself  and  brought  shame  to  your  name  and  fam 
ily.  Ah,  how  could  I  ever  have  said  it,  and  you  so  good  and 
dear  and  innocent !  I  was  afraid ;  for  I  was  guilty.  You 
understand  it  now,  my  child,  and  you  forgive  ?" 

Do  you  see  ?  Even  that  poor  groping  old  land-crab,  with 
his  skull  full  of  pulp,  had  pride.  Isn't  it  wonderful  ?  And 
more  —  he  had  conscience;  he  had  a  sense  of  right  and 
wrong,  such  as  it  was  ;  he  was  able  to  feel  remorse.  It  looks 
impossible,  it  looks  incredible,  but  it  is  not.  I  believe  that 
some  day  it  will  be  found  out  that  peasants  are  people.  Yes, 
beings  in  a  great  many  respects  like  ourselves.  And  I  believe 
that  some  day  they  will  find  this  out,  too— and  then  !  Well, 
then  I  think  they  will  rise  up  and  demand  to  be  regarded  as 
part  of  the  race,  and  that  by  consequence  there  will  be  trouble. 
Whenever  one  sees  in  a  book  or  in  a  king's  proclamation 
those  words  "  the  nation,"  they  bring  before  us  the  upper 
classes  ;  only  those  ;  we  know  no  other  "  nation";  for  us  and 
the  kings  no  other  "nation"  exists.  But  from  the  day  that 
I  saw  old  D'Arc  the  peasant  acting  and  feeling  just  as  I 
should  have  acted  and  felt  myself,  I  have  carried  the  con 
viction  in  my  heart  that  our  peasants  are  not  merely  animals, 
beasts  of  burden  put  here  by  the  good  God  to  produce  food 
and  comfort  for  the  "  nation,"  but  something  more  and  better. 
You  look  incredulous.  Well,  that  is  your  training;  it  is  the 
training  of  everybody ;  but  as  for  me,  I  thank  that  incident 
for  giving  me  a  better  light,  and  I  have  never  forgotten  it. 

Let  me  see — where  was  I  ?  One's  mind  wanders  around^ 
here  and  there  and  yonder,  when  one  is  old.  I  think  I  said 
Joan  comforted  him.  Certainly,  that  is  what  she  would  do — 
there  was  no  need  to  say  that.  She  coaxed  him  and  petted 
him  and  caressed  him,  and  laid  the  memory  of  that  old  hard 
speech  of  his  to  rest.  Laid  it  to  rest  until  she  'should  be 
dead.  Then  he  would  remember  it  again — yes,  yes !  Lord, 


291 

how  those  things  sting,  and  burn,  and  gnaw  —  the  things 
which  we  did  against  the  innocent  dead  !  And  we  say  in  our 
anguish,  "  If  they  could  only  come  back !"  Which  is  all  very 
well  to  say,  but  as  far  as  I  can  see,  it  doesn't  profit  anything. 
In  my  opinion  the  best  way  is  not  to  do  the  thing  in  the  first 
place.  And  I  am  not  alone  in  this ;  I  have  heard  our  two 
knights  say  the  same  thing ;  and  a  man  there  in  Orleans — 
no,  I  believe  it  was  at  Beaugency,  or  one  of  those  places — it 
seems  more  as  if  it  was  at  Beaugency  than  the  others — this 
man  said  the  same  thing  exactly ;  almost  the  same  words ;  a 
dark  man  with  a  cast  in  his  eye  and  one  leg  shorter  than  the 
other.  His  name  was — was — it  is  singular  that  I  can't  call 
that  man's  name ;  I  had  it  in  my  mind  only  a  moment  ago, 
and  I  know  it  begins  with  —  no,  I  don't  remember  what  it 
begins  with  ;  but  never  mind,  let  it  go  ;  I  will  think  of  it  pres 
ently,  and  then  I  will  tell  you. 

Well,  pretty  soon  the  old  father  wanted  to  know  how  Joan 
felt  when  she  was  in  the  thick  of  a  battle,  with  the  bright 
blades  hacking  and  flashing  all  around  her,  and  the  blows  rap 
ping  and  slatting  on  her  shield,  and  blood  gushing  on  her 
from  the  cloven  ghastly  face  and  broken  teeth  of  the  neighbor 
at  her  elbow,  and  the  perilous  sudden  back  surge  of  massed 
horses  upon  a  person  when  the  front  ranks  give  way  before  a 
heavy  rush  of  the  enemy,  and  men  tumble  limp  and  groaning 
out  of  saddles  all  around,  and  battle-flags  falling  from  dead 
hands  wipe  across  one's  face  and  hide  the  tossing  turmoil  a 
moment,  and  in  the  reeling  and  swaying  and  laboring  jumble 
one's  horse's  hoofs  sink  into  soft  substances  and  shrieks  of 
pain  respond,  and  presently  —  panic!  rush!  swarm!  flight! 
and  death  and  hell  following  after !  And  the  old  fellow  got 
ever  so  much  excited  ;  and  strode  up  and  down,  his  tongue 
going  like  a  mill,  asking  question  after  question  and  never 
waiting  for  an  answer ;  and  finally  he  stood  Joan  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  and  stepped  off  and  scanned  her  critical 
ly,  and  said — 

"  No — I  don't  understand  it.  You  are  so  little.  So  little 
and  slender.  When  you  had  your  armor  on,  to-day,  it  gave 


292 


one  a  sort  of  notion  of  it ;  but  in  these  pretty  silks  and  vel 
vets,  you  are  only  a  dainty  page,  not  a  league-striding  war- 
colossus,  moving  in  clouds  and  darkness  and  breathing  smoke 
and  thunder.  I  would  God  I  might  see  you  at  it  and  go  tell 
your  mother  !  That  would  help  her  sleep,  poor  thing  !  Here 
—teach  me  the  arts  of  the  soldier,  that  I  may  explain  them 
to  her." 

And  she  did  it.  She  gave  him  a  pike,  and  put  him  through 
the  manual  of  arms ;  and  made  him  do  the  steps,  too.  His 
inarching  was  incredibly  awkward  and  slovenly,  and  so  was 
his  drill  with  the  pike  ;  but  he  didn't  know  it,  and  was  won 
derfully  pleased  with  himself,  and  mightily  excited  and 
charmed  with  the  ringing,  crisp  words  of  command.  I  am 
obliged  to  say  that  if  looking  proud  and  happy  when  one  is 
marching  were  sufficient,  he  would  have  been  the  perfect 
soldier. 

And  he  wanted  a  lesson  in  sword-play,  and  got  it.  But  of 
course  that  was  beyond  him ;  he  was  too  old.  It  was  beau 
tiful  to  see  Joan  handle  the  foils,  but  the  old  man  was  a  bad 
failure.  He  was  afraid  of  the  things,  and  skipped  and  dodged 
and  scrambled  around  like  a  woman  who  has  lost  her  mind 
on  account  of  the  arrival  of  a  bat.  He  was  of  no  good  as  an 
exhibition.  But  if  La  Hire  had  only  come  in,  that  would  have 
been  another  matter.  Those  two  fenced  often ;  I  saw  them 
many  times.  True,  Joan  was  easily  his  master,  but  it  made  a 
good  show  for  all  that,  for  La  Hire  was  a  grand  swordsman. 
What  a  swift  creature  Joan  was !  You  would  see  her  stand 
ing  erect  with  her  ankle-bones  together  and  her  foil  arched 
over  her  head,  the  hilt  in  one  hand  and  the  button  in  the 
other — the  old  general  opposite,  bent  forward,  left  hand  re 
posing  on  his  back,  his  foil  advanced,  slightly  wiggling  and 
squirming,  his  watching  eye  boring  straight  into  hers  —  and 
all  of  a  sudden  she  would  give  a  spring  forward,  and  back 
again  ;  and  there  she  was,  with  the  foil  arched  over  her  head 
as  before.  La  Hire  had  been  hit,  but  all  that  the  spectator 
saw  of  it  was  a  something  like  a  thin  flash  of  light  in  the  air, 
but  nothing  distinct,  nothing  definite. 


293 

We  kept  the  drinkables  moving,  for  that  would  please  the 
Bailly  and  the  landlord ;  and  old  Laxart  and  D'Arc  got  to 
feeling  quite  comfortable,  but  without  being  what  you  could 
call  tipsy.  They  got  out  the  presents  which  they  had  been 
buying  to  carry  home  —  humble  things  and  cheap,  but  they 
would  be  fine  there,  and  welcome.  And  they  gave  to  Joan  a 
present  from  Pere  Fronte  and  one  from  her  mother — the  one 
a  little  leaden  image  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  the  other  half  a  yard 
of  blue  silk  ribbon  ;  and  she  was  as  pleased  as  a  child ;  and 
touched,  too,  as  one  could  see  plainly  enough.  Yes,  she 
kissed  those  poor  things  over  and  over  again,  as  if  they  had 
been  something  costly  and  wonderful ;  and  she  pinned  the 
Virgin  on  her  doublet,  and  sent  for  her  helmet  and  tied  the 
ribbon  on  that ;  first  one  way,  then  another ;  then  a  new  way, 
then  another  new  way;  and  with  each  effort  perching  the 
helmet  on  her  hand  and  holding  it  off  this  way  and  that,  and 
canting  her  head  to  one  side  and  then  the  other,  examining 
the  effect,  as  a  bird  does  when  it  has  got  a  new  bug.  And 
she  said  she  could  almost  wish  she  was  going  to  the  wars 
again ;  for  then  she  would  fight  with  the  better  courage,  as 
having  always  with  her  something  which  her  mother's  touch 
had  blessed. 

Old  Laxart  said  he  hoped  she  would  go  to  the  wars  again, 
but  home  first,  for  that  all  the  people  there  were  cruel  airx- 
ious  to  see  her — and  so  he  went  on  : 

"  They  are  proud  of  you,  dear.  Yes,  prouder  than  any  vil 
lage  ever  was  of  anybody  before.  And  indeed  it  is  right  and 
rational ;  for  it  is  the  first  time  a  village  has  ever  had  any 
body  like  you  to  be  proud  of  and  call  its  own.  And  it  is 
strange  and  beautiful  how  they  try  to  give  your  name  to  every 
creature  that  has  a  set  that  is  convenient.  It  is  but  half  a 
year  since  you  began  to  be  spoken  of  and  left  us,  and  so  it  is 
surprising  to  see  how  many  babies  there  are  already  in  that 
region  that  are  named  for  you.  First  it  was  just  Joan  ;  then 
it  was  Joan-Orleans;  then  Joan-Orleans-Beaugency-Patay ; 
and  now  the  next  ones  will  have  a  lot  of  towns  and  the  Coro 
nation  added,  of  course.  Yes,  and  the  animals  the  same. 


294 

They  know  how  you  love  animals,  and  so  they  try  to  do  you 
honor  and  show  their  love  for  you  by  naming  all  those  creat 
ures  after  you ;  insomuch  that  if  a  body  should  step  out  and 
call  *  Joan  of  Arc — come  !'  there  would  be  a  landslide  of  cats 
and  all  such  things,  each  supposing  it  was  the  one  wanted, 
and  all  willing  to  take  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  anyway,  for 
the  sake  of  the  food  that  might  be  on  delivery.  The  kitten 
you  left  behind — the  last  estray  you  fetched  home — bears  your 
name,  now,  and  belongs  to  Pere  Fronte,  and  is  the  pet  and 
pride  of  the  village  ;  and  people  have  come  miles  to  look  at 
it  and  pet  it  and  stare  at  it  and  wonder  over  it  because  it  was 
Joan  of  Arc's  cat.  Everybody  will  tell  you  that ;  and  one 
day  when  a  stranger  threw  a  stone  at  it,  not  knowing  it  was 
your  cat,  the  village  rose  against  him  as  one  man  and  hanged 
him  !  And  but  for  Pere  Fronte — 

There  was  an  interruption.  It  was  a  messenger  from  the 
King,  bearing  a  note  for  Joan,  which  I  read  to  her,  saying 
he  had  reflected,  and  had  consulted  his  other  generals,  and 
was  obliged  to  ask  her  to  remain  at  the  head  of  the  army 
and  withdraw  her  resignation.  Also,  would  she  come  imme 
diately  and  attend  a  council  of  war  ?  Straightway,  at  a  little 
distance,  military  commands  and  the  rumble  of  drums  broke 
on  the  still  night,  and  we  knew  that  her  guard  was  approach 
ing. 

Deep  disappointment  clouded  her  face  for  just  one  moment 
and  no  more — it  passed,  and  with  it  the  homesick  girl,  and 
she  was  Joan  of  Arc,  Commander-in-Chief  again,  and  ready 
for  duty. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

IN  my  double  quality  of  page  and  secretary  I  followed  Joan 
to  the  council.  She  entered  that  presence  with  the  bearing 
of  a  grieved  goddess.  What  was  become  of  the  volatile  child 
that  so  lately  was  enchanted  with  a  ribbon  and  suffocated 
with  laughter  over  the  distresses  of  a  foolish  peasant  who  had 
stormed  a  funeral  on  the  back  of  a  bee-stung  bull  ?  One  may 
not  guess.  Simply  it  was  gone,  and  had  left  no  sign.  She 
moved  straight  to  the  council-table,  and  stood.  Her  glance 
swept  from  face  to  face  there,  and  where  it  fell,  these  it  lit  as 
with  a  torch,  those  it  scorched  as  with  a  brand.  She  knew 
where  to  strike.  She  indicated  the  generals  with  a  nod,  and 
said — 

"  My  business  is  not  with  you.  You  have  not  craved  a 
council  of  war."  Then  she  turned  toward  the  King's  privy 
council,  and  continued  :  "  No ;  it  is  with  you.  A  council  of 
war !  It  is  amazing.  There  is  but  one  thing  to  do,  and  only 
one,  and  lo,  ye  call  a  council  of  war  !  Councils  of  war  have 
no  value  but  to  decide  between  two  or  several  doubtful  courses. 
But  a  council  of  war  when  there  is  only  one  course  ?  Conceive 
of  a  man  in  a  boat  and  his  family  in  the  water,  and  he  goes  out 
among  his  friends  to  ask  what  he  would  better  do  ?  A  coun 
cil  of  war,  name  of  God  !  To  determine  what  ?" 

She  stopped,  and  turned  till  her  eyes  rested  upon  the  face 
of  La  Tremouille  ;  and  so  she  stood,  silent,  measuring  him, 
the  excitement  in  all  faces  burning  steadily  higher  and  higher, 
and  all  pulses  beating  faster  and  faster ;  then  she  said,  with 
deliberation — 

"Every  sane  man — whose  loyalty  to  his  King  is  not  a  show 
and  a  pretence — knows  that  there  is  but  one  rational  thing 
before  us — the  march  upon  Paris  T 


296 

Down  came  the  fist  of  La  Hire  with  an  approving  crash 
upon  the  table.  La  Tremouille  turned  white  with  anger,  but 
he  pulled  himself  firmly  together  and  held  his  peace.  The 
King's  lazy  blood  was  stirred  and  his  eye  kindled  finely,  for  the 
spirit  of  war  was  away  down  in  him  somewhere,  and  a  frank 
bold  speech  always  found  it  and  made  it  tingle  gladsomely. 
Joan  waited  to  see  if  the  chief  minister  might  wish  to  defend 
his  position  ;  but  he  was  experienced  and  wise,  and  not  a  man 
to  waste  his  forces  where  the  current  was  against  him.  He 
would  wait ;  the  King's  private  ear  would  be  at  his  disposal 
by-and-by. 

That  pious  fox  the  Chancellor  of  France  took  the  word 
now.  He  washed  his  soft  hands  together,  smiling  persua 
sively,  and  said  to  Joan  : 

"  Would  it  be  courteous,  your  Excellency,  to  move  abruptly 
from  here  without  waiting  for  an  answer  from  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy  ?  You  may  not  know  that  we  are  negotiating  with 
his  Highness,  and  that  there  is  likely  to  be  a  fortnight's  truce 
between  us  ;  and  on  his  part  a  pledge  to  deliver  Paris  into  our 
hands  without  cost  of  a  blow  or  the  fatigue,  of  a  march  thither." 

Joan  turned  to  him  and  said,  gravely — 

"  This  is  not  a  confessional,  my  lord.  You  were  not  obliged 
to  expose  that  shame  here." 

The  Chancellor's  face  reddened,  and  he  retorted— 

"  Shame?     What  is  there  shameful  about  it  ?" 

Joan  answered  in  level,  passionless  tones — 

"  One  may  describe  it  without  hunting  far  for  words.  I 
knew  of  this  poor  comedy,  my  lord,  although  it  was  not  in 
tended  that  I  should  know.  It  is  to  the  credit  of  the  devisers 
of  it  that  they  tried  to  conceal  it — this  comedy  whose  text  and 
impulse  are  describable  in  two  words." 

'The  Chancellor  spoke  up  with  a  fine  irony  in  his  man 
ner  : 

"  Indeed  ?  And  will  your  Excellency  be  good  enough  to 
utter  them  ?" 

"  Cowardice  and  treachery  !" 

The  fists  of  all  the  generals  came  down  this  time,  and  again 


297 

the  King's  eye  sparkled  with  pleasure.  The  Chancellor  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  appealed  to  his  Majesty — 

"  Sire,  I  claim  your  protection." 

But  the  King  waved  him  to  his  seat  again,  saying — 

"  Peace.  She  had  a  right  to  be  consulted  before  that  thing 
was  undertaken,  since  it  concerned  war  as  well  as  politics. 
It  is  but  just  that  she  be  heard  upon  it  now." 

The  Chancellor  sat  down  trembling  with  indignation,  and 
remarked  to  Joan — 

"  Out  of  charity  I  will  consider  that  you  did  not  know  who 
devised  this  measure  which  you  condemn  in  so  candid  lan 
guage." 

"  Save  your  charity  for  another  occasion,  my  lord,"  said 
Joan,  as  calmly  as  before.  "  Whenever  anything  is  done  to 
injure  the  interests  and  degrade  the  honor  of  France,  all  but 
the  dead  know  how  to  name  the  two  conspirators-in-chief." 

"  Sire,  sire  !  this  insinuation — " 

"It  is  not  an  insinuation,  my  lord,"  said  Joan,  placidly,  "it 
is  a  charge.  I  bring  it  against  the  King's  chief  minister  and 
his  Chancellor." 

Both  men  were  on  their  feet  now,  insisting  that  the  King 
modify  Joan's  frankness ;  but  he  was  not  minded  to  do  it. 
His  ordinary  councils  were  stale  water — his  spirit  was  drink 
ing  wine,  now,  and  the  taste  of  it  was  good.  He  said — 

"  Sit — and  be  patient.  What  is  fair  for  one  must  in  fair 
ness  be  allowed  the  other.  Consider — and  be  just.  When 
have  you  two  spared  her  ?  What  dark  charges  and  harsh 
names  have  you  withheld  when  you  spoke  of  her?"  Then  he 
added,  with  a  veiled  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  If  these  are  offences 
I  see  no  particular  difference  between  them,  except  that  she 
says  her  hard  things  to  your  faces,  whereas  you  say  yours  be 
hind  her  back." 

He  was  pleased  with  that  neat  shot  and  the  way  it  shrivelled 
those  two  people  up,  and  made  La  Hire  laugh  out  loud  and 
the  other  generals  softly  quake  and  chuckle.  Joan  tran 
quilly  resumed — 

"  From  the  first,  we  have  been  hindered  by  this  policy  of 


298 

shilly-shally ;  this  fashion  of  counselling  and  counselling  and 
counselling  where  no  counselling  is  needed,  but  only  fighting. 
We  took  Orleans  on  the  8th  of  May,  and  could  have  cleared 
the  region  round  about  in  three  days  and  saved  the  slaughter 
of  Patay.  We  could  have  been  in  Rheims  six  weeks  ago, 
and  in  Paris  now;  and  would  see  the  last  Englishman  pass 
out  of  France  in  half  a  year.  But  we  struck  no  blow  after 
Orleans,  but  went  off  into  the  country — what  for  ?  Ostensibly 
to  hold  councils ;  really  to  give  Bedford  time  to  send  re-en- 
forcernents  to  Talbot — which  he  did ;  and  Patay  had  to  be 
fought.  After  Patay,  more  counselling,  more  waste  of  pre 
cious  time.  O  my  King,  I  would  that  you  would  be  persuaded !" 
She  began  to  warm  up,  now.  "  Once  more  we  have  our  op 
portunity.  If  we  rise  and  strike,  all  is  well.  Bid  me  march 
upon  Paris.  In  twenty  days  it  shall  be  yours,  and  in  six 
months  all  France !  Here  is  half  a  year's  work  before 
us ;  if  this  chance  be  wasted,  I  give  you  twenty  years  to 
do  it  in.  Speak  the  word,  O  gentle  King — speak  but  the 
one—" 

"  I  cry  you  mercy !"  interrupted  the  Chancellor,  who  saw  a 
dangerous  enthusiasm  rising  in  the  King  face.  "  March  upon 
Paris  ?  Does  your  Excellency  forget  that  the  way  bristles 
with  English  strongholds  ?" 

"  That  for  your  English  strongholds  !"  and  Joan  snapped 
her  fingers  scornfully.  "  Whence  have  we  marched  in  these 
last  days  ?  From  Gien.  And  whither?  To  Rheims.  What 
bristled  between  ?  English  strongholds.  What  are  they  now  ? 
French  ones — and  they  never  cost  a  blow  !"  Here  applause 
broke  out  from  the  group  of  generals,  and  Joan  had  to  pause 
a  moment  to  let  it  subside.  "  Yes,  English  strongholds  bris 
tled  before  us  ;  now  French  eSle  bristle  behind  us.  What  is 
the  argument?  A  child  can  read  it.  The  strongholds  be 
tween  us  and  Paris  are  garrisoned  by  no  new  breed  of  Eng 
lish,  but  by  the  same  breed  as  those  others — with  the  same 
fears,  the  same  questionings,  the  same  weaknesses,  the  same 
disposition  to  see  the  heavy  hand  of  God  descending  upon 
them.  We  have  but  to  march  ! — on  the  instant — and  they  are 


I 


299 

ours,  Paris  is  ours,  France  is  ours !  Give  the  word,  O  my 
King,  command  your  servant  to — " 

"  Stay  !"  cried  the  Chancellor.  "  It  would  be  madness  to 
put  this  affront  upon  his  Highness  the  Duke  of  Burgundy. 
By  the  treaty  which  we  have  every  hope  to  make  with  him — 

"  O,  the  treaty  which  we  hope  to  make  with  him  !  He  has 
scorned  you  for  years,  and  defied  you.  Is  it  your  subtle  per 
suasions  that  have  softened  his  manners  and  beguiled  him  to 
listen  to  proposals  ?  No ;  it  was  blows  ! — the  blows  which  we 
gave  him  !  That  is  the  only  teaching  that  that  sturdy  rebel 
can  understand.  What  does  he  care  for  wind?  The  treaty 
which  we  hope  to  make  with  him — alack !  He  deliver  Paris ! 
There  is  no  pauper  in  the  land  that  is  less  able  to  do  it.  He 
deliver  Paris !  Ah,  but  that  would  make  great  Bedford 
smile  !  Oh,  the  pitiful  pretext !  the  blind  can  see  that  this 
thin  pourparler  with  its  fifteen-day  truce  has  no  purpose  but 
to  give  Bedford  time  to  hurry  forward  his  forces  against  us. 
More  treachery  —  always  treachery!  We  call  a  council  of 
war — with  nothing  to  counsel  about;  but  Bedford  calls  no 
council  to  teach  him  what  our  one  course  is.  He  knows  what 
he  would  do  in  our  place.  He  would  hang  his  traitors  and 
march  upon  Paris !  O  gentle  King,  rouse  !  The  way  is 
open,  Paris  beckons,  France  implores.  Speak  and  we — 

"  Sire,  it  is  madness,  sheer  madness  !  Your  Excellency,  we 
cannot,  we  must  not  go  back  from  what  we  have  done  ;  we  have 
proposed  to  treat,  we  must  treat  with  the  Duke  of  Burgundy." 

"And  we  will 7"  said  Joan. 

"  Ah  ?     How  ?" 

"At  the  point  of  the  lance  T 

The  house  rose,  to  a  man — all  that  had  French  hearts — and 
let  go  a  crash  of  applause — and  kept  it  up  ;  and  in  the  midst  of 
it  one  heard  La  Hire  growl  out:  "At  the  point  of  the  lance  ! 
By  God,  that  is  the  music  !"  The  King  was  up,  too,  and  drew 
his  sword,  and  took  it  by  the  blade  and  strode  to  Joan  and 
delivered  the  hilt  of  it  into  her  hand,  saying — 

"There,  the  King  surrenders.     Carry  it  to  Paris." 

And  so  the  applause  burst  out  again,  and  the  historical 
council  of  war  that  has  bred  so  many  legends  was  over. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

IT  was  away  past  midnight,  and  had  been  a  tremendous 
day  in  the  matter  of  excitement  and  fatigue,  but  that  was  no 
matter  to  Joan  when  there  was  business  on  hand.  She  did 
not  think  of  bed.  The  generals  followed  her  to  her  official 
quarters,  and  she  delivered  her  orders  to  them  as  fast  as  she 
could  talk,  and  they  sent  them  off  to  their  different  commands 
as  fast  as  delivered ;  wherefore  the  messengers  galloping 
hither  and  thither  raised  a  world  of  clatter  and  racket  in  the 
still  streets  ;  and  soon  were  added  to  this  the  music  of  distant 
bugles  and  the  roll  of  drums — notes  of  preparation ;  for  the 
vanguard  would  break  camp  at  dawn. 

The  generals  were  soon  dismissed,  but  I  wasn't ;  nor 
Joan ;  for  it  was  my  turn  to  work,  now.  Joan  walked  the 
floor  and  dictated  a  summons  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  to 
lay  down  his  arms  and  make  peace  and  exchange  pardons 
with  the  King ;  or,  if  he  must  fight,  go  fight  the  Saracens. 
"Pardonnez-vous  Tun  h  1'autre  de  bon  cceur,  entierement, 
ainsi  que  doivent  faire  loyaux  chre'tiens,  et,  s'il  vous  plait  de 
guerroyer,  allez  contre  les  Sarrasins."  It  was  long,  but  it 
was  good,  and  had  the  sterling  ring  to  it.  It  is  my  opinion 
that  it  was  as  fine  and  simple  and  straightforward  and  elo 
quent  a  state  paper  as  she  ever  uttered. 

It  was  delivered  into  the  hands  of  a  courier,  and  he  gal 
loped  away  with  it.  Then  Joan  dismissed  me,  and  told  me  to 
go  to  the  inn  and  stay ;  and  in  the  morning  give  to  her  father 
the  parcel  which  she  had  left  there.  It  contained  presents 
for  the  Domremy  relatives  and  friends  and  a  peasant  dress 
which  she  had  bought  for  herself.  She  said  she  would  say 
good-bye  to  her  father  and  uncle  in  the  morning  if  it  should 


301 

still  be  their  purpose  to  go,  instead  of  tarrying  awhile  to  see 
the  city. 

I  didn't  say  anything,  of  course  ;  but  I  could  have  said  that 
wild  horses  couldn't  keep  those  men  in  that  town  half  a  day. 
They  waste  the  glory  of  being  the  first  to  carry  the  great  news 
to  Domremy — the  taxes  remitted  forever  ! — and  hear  the  bells 
clang  and  clatter,  and  the  people  cheer  and  shout  ?  Oh,  not 
they.  Patay  and  Orleans  and  the  Coronation  were  events 
which  in  a  vague  way  these  men  understood  to  be  colossal ; 
but  they  were  colossal  mists,  films,  abstractions :  this  was  a 
gigantic  reality ! 

When  I  got  there,  do  you  suppose  they  were  abed  !  Quite 
the  reverse.  They  and  the  rest  were  as  mellow  as  mellow 
could  be ;  and  the  Paladin  was  doing  his  battles  over  in 
great  style,  and  the  old  peasants  were  endangering  the  build 
ing  with  their  applause.  He  was  doing  Patay  now ;  and  was 
bending  his  big  frame  forward  and  laying  out  the  positions 
and  movements  with  a  rake  here  and  a  rake  there  of  his 
formidable  sword  on  the  floor,  and  the  peasants  were  stooped 
over  with  their  hands  on  their  spread  knees  observing  with 
excited  eyes  and  ripping  out  ejaculations  of  wonder  and  ad 
miration  all  along : 

"  Yes,  here  we  were,  waiting  —  waiting  for  the  word;  our 
horses  fidgeting  and  snorting  and  dancing  to  get  away,  we 
lying  back  on  the  bridles  till  our  bodies  fairly  slanted  to  the 
rear;  the  word  rang  out  at  last — lGof  and  we  went ! 

"Went?  There  was  nothing  like  it  ever  seen  !  Where  we 
swept  by  squads  of  scampering  English,  the  mere  wind  of  our 
passage  laid  them  flat  in  piles  and  rows  !  Then  we  plunged 
into  the  ruck  of  Fastolfe's  frantic  battle  -  corps  and  tore 
through  it  like  a  hurricane,  leaving  a  causeway  of  the  dead 
stretching  far  behind  ;  no  tarrying,  no  slacking  rein,  but  on  ! 
on  !  on  !  far  yonder  in  the  distance  lay  our  prey — Talbot  and 
his  host  looming  vast  and  dark  like  a  storm-cloud  brooding 
on  the  sea !  Down  we  swooped  upon  them,  glooming  all  the 
air  with  a  quivering  pall  of  dead  leaves  flung  up  by  the  whirl 
wind  of  our  flight.  In  another  moment  we  should  have  struck 


3Q2  - 

them  as  world  strikes  world  when  clisorbited  constellations 
crash  into  the  Milky  Way,  but  by  misfortune  and  the  inscruta 
ble  dispensation  of  God  I  was  recognized!  Talbot  turned 
white,  and  shouting,  '  Save  yourselves,  it  is  the  Standard- 
bearer  of  Joan  of  Arc !'  drove  his  spurs  home  till  they  met 
in  the  middle  of  his  horse's  entrails,  and  fled  the  field  with 
his  billowing  multitudes  at  his  back !  I  could  have  cursed 
myself  for  not  putting  on  a  disguise.  I  saw  reproach  in 
the  eyes  of  her  Excellency,  and  was  bitterly  ashamed.  I 
had  caused  what  seemed  an  irreparable  disaster.  Another 
might  have  gone  aside  to  grieve,  as  not  seeing  any  way  to 
mend  it;  but  I  thank  God  I  am  not  of  those.  Great  occa 
sions  only  summon  as  with  a  trumpet-call  the  slumbering  re 
serves  of  my  intellect.  I  saw  my  opportunity  in  an  instant — 
in  the  next  I  was  away!  Through  the  woods  I  vanished — 
fst! — like  an  extinguished  light!  Away  around  through  the 
curtaining  forest  I  sped,  as  if  on  wings,  none  knowing  what 
was  become  of  me,  none  suspecting  my  design.  Minute 
after  minute  passed,  on  and  on  I  flew ;  on,  and  still  on ;  and 
at  last  with  a  great  cheer  I  flung  my  Banner  to  the  breeze 
and  burst  out  in  front  of  Talbot !  Oh,  it  was  a  mighty 
thought!  That  weltering  chaos  of  distracted  men  whirled 
and  surged  backward  like  a  tidal  wave  which  has  struck  a 
continent,  and  the  day  was  ours !  Poor  helpless  creatures, 
they  were  in  a  trap ;  they  were  surrounded  ;  they  could  not 
escape  to  the  rear,  for  there  was  our  army ;  they  could  not 
escape  to  the  front,  for  there  was  I.  Their  hearts  shrivelled 
in  their  bodies,  their  hands  fell  listless  at  their  sides.  They 
stood  still,  and  at  our  leisure  we  slaughtered  them  to  a  man  ; 
all  except  Talbot  and  Fasto^e,  whom  I  saved  and  brought 
away,  one  under  each  arm." 

Well,  there  is  no  denying  it,  the  Paladin  was  in  great  form 
that  night.  Such  style!  such  noble  grace  of  gesture,  such 
grandeur  of  attitude,  such  energy  when  he  got  going !  such 
steady  rise,  on  such  sure  wing,  such  nicely  graduated  expen 
ditures  of  voice  according  to  weight  of  matter,  such  skilfully 
calculated  approaches  to  his  surprises  and  explosions,  such 


303 

belief-compelling  sincerity  of  tone  and  manner,  such  a  climax 
ing  peal  from  his  brazen  lungs,  and  such  a  lightning-vivid  pict 
ure  of  his  mailed  form  and  flaunting  banner  when  he  burst 
out  before  that  despairing  army !  And  oh,  the  gentle  art  of 
the  last  half  of  his  last  sentence — delivered  in  the  careless 
and  indolent  tone  of  one  who  has  finished  his  real  story,  and 
only  adds  a  colorless  and  inconsequential  detail  because  it 
has  happened  to  occur  to  him  in  a  lazy  way. 

It  was  a  marvel  to  see  those  innocent  peasants.  Why,  they 
went  all  to  pieces  with  enthusiasm,  and  roared  out  applauses 
fit  to  raise  the  roof  and  wake  the  dead.  When  they  had 
cooled  down  at  last  and  there  was  silence  but  for  their  heav 
ing  and  panting,  old  Laxart  said,  admiringly — 

"  As  it  seems  to  me,  you  are  an  army  in  your  single  per 
son." 

"Yes,  that  is  what  he  is,"  said  Noel  Rainguesson,  convinc 
ingly.  "He  is  a  terror;  and  not  just  in  this  vicinity.  His 
mere  name  carries  a  shudder  with  it  to  distant  lands — just  his 
mere  name  ;  and  when  he  frowns,  the  shadow  of  it  falls  as  far 
as  Rome,  and  the  chickens  go  to  roost  an  hour  before  sched 
ule  time.  Yes  ;  and  some  say — 

"  Noel  Rainguesson,  you  are  preparing  yourself  for  trouble. 
I  will  say  just  one  word  to  you,  and  it  will  be  to  your  advan 
tage  to—" 

I  saw  that  the  usual  thing  had  got  a  start.  No  man  could 
prophesy  when  it  would  end.  So  I  delivered  Joan's  message 
and  went  off  to  bed. 

Joan  made  her  good-byes  to  those  old  fellows  in  the  morn 
ing,  with  loving  embraces  and  many  tears,  and  with  a  packed 
multitude  for  sympathizers,  and  they  rode  proudly  away  on 
their  precious  horses  to  carry  their  great  news  home.  I  had 
seen  better  riders,  I  will  say  that ;  for  horsemanship  was  a 
new  art  to  them. 

The  vanguard  moved  out  at  dawn  and  took  the  road,  with 
bands  braying,  and  banners  flying;  the  second  division  fol 
lowed  at  eight.  Then  came  the  Burgundian  ambassadors, 
and  lost  us  the  rest  of  that  day  and  the  whole  of  the  next. 


304 

But  Joan  was  on  hand,  and  so  they  had  their  journey  for  their 
pains.  The  rest  of  us  took  the  road  at  dawn,  next  morning, 
July  2oth.  And  got  how  far?  Six  leagues.  Tremouille  was 
getting  in  his  sly  work  with  the  vacillating  King,  you  see.  The 
King  stopped  at  St.  Marcoul  and  prayed  three  days.  Pre 
cious  time  lost — for  us  ;  precious  time  gained  for  Bedford. 
He  would  know  how  to  use  it. 

We  could  not  go  on  without  the  King ;  that  would  be  to 
leave  him  in  the  conspirators'  camp.  Joan  argued,  reasoned, 
implored ;  and  at  last  we  got  under  way  again. 

Joan's  prediction  was  verified.  It  was  not  a  campaign,  it 
was  only  another  holiday  excursion.  English  strongholds 
lined  our  route  ;  they  surrendered  without  a  blow ;  we  garri 
soned  them  with  Frenchmen  and  passed  on.  Bedford  was  on 
the  march  against  us  with  his  new  army  by  this  time,  and  on 
the  25th  of  July  the  hostile  forces  faced  each  other  and  made 
preparation  for  battle;  but  Bedford's  good  judgment  pre 
vailed,  and  he  turned  and  retreated  toward  Paris.  Now  was 
our  chance.  Our  men  were  in  great  spirits. 

Will  you  believe  it  ?  Our  poor  stick  of  a  King  allowed  his 
worthless  advisers  to  persuade  him  to  start  back  for  Gien, 
whence  we  had  set  out  when  we  first  marched  for  Rheims  and 
the  Coronation  !  And  we  actually  did  start  back.  The  fif 
teen-day  truce  had  just  been  concluded  with  the  Duke  of  Bur 
gundy,  and  we  would  go  and  tarry  at  Gien  until  he  should  de 
liver  Paris  to  us  without  a  fight. 

We  marched  to  Bray ;  then  the  King  changed  his  mind  once 
more,  and  with  it  his  face  toward  Paris.  Joan  dictated  a  let 
ter  to  the  citizens  of  Rheims  to  encourage  them  to  keep  heart 
in  spite  of  the  truce,  and  promising  to  stand  by  them.  She 
furnished  them  the  news  herself  that  the  King  had  made  this 
truce ;  and  in  speaking  of  it  she  was  her  usual  frank  self. 
She  said  she  was  not  satisfied  with  it,  and  didn't  know  wheth 
er  she  would  keep  it  or  not ;  that  if  she  kept  it,  it  would  be 
solely  out  of  tenderness  for  the  King's  honor.  All  French 
children  know  those  famous  words.  How  naive  they  are ! 
"  De  cette  treve  qui  a  ete  faite,  je  ne  suis  pas  contente,  et  je 


305 

ne  sais  si  je  la  tiendrai.  Si  je  la  tiens,  ce  sera  seulement  pour 
garder  1'honneur  du  roi."  But  in  any  case,  she  said,  she 
would  not  allow  the  blood  royal  to  be  abused,  and  would  keep 
the  army  in  good  order  and  ready  for  work  at  the  end  of  the 
truce. 

Poor  child,  to  have  to  fight  England,  Burgundy,  and  a 
French  conspiracy  all  at  the  same  time — it  was  too  bad.  She 
was  a  match  for  the  others,  but  a  conspiracy — ah,  nobody  is 
a  match  for  that,  when  the  victim  that  is  to  be  injured  is  weak 
and  willing.  It  grieved  her,  these  troubled  days,  to  be  so 
hindered  and  delayed  and  baffled,  and  at  times  she  was  sad 
and  the  tears  lay  near  the  surface.  Once,  talking  with  her 
good  old  faithful  friend  and  servant  the  Bastard  of  Orleans, 
she  said — 

"  Ah,  if  it  might  but  please  God  to  let  me  put  off  this  steel 
raiment  and  go  back  to  my  father  and  my  mother,  and  tend 
my  sheep  again  with  my  sister  and  my  brothers,  who  would 
be  so  glad  to  see  me !" 

By  the  i2th  of  August  we  were  camped  near  Dampmartin. 
Later  we  had  a  brush  with  Bedford's  rear-guard,  and  had 
hopes  of  a  big  battle  on  the  morrow,  but  Bedford  and  all  his 
force  got  away  in  the  night  and  went  on  toward  Paris. 

Charles  sent  heralds  and  received  the  submission  of  Beau- 
vais.  The  Bishop  Pierre  Cauchon,  that  faithful  friend  and 
slave  of  the  English,  was  not  able  to  prevent  it,  though  he  did 
his  best.  He  was  obscure  then,  but  his  name  was  to  travel 
round  the  globe  presently,  and  live  forever  in  the  curses  of 
France  !  Bear  with  me  now,  while  I  spit  in  fancy  upon  his 
grave. 

Compiegne  surrendered,  and  hauled  down  the  English  flag. 
On  the  1 4th  we  camped  two  leagues  from  Senlis.  Bedford 
turned  and  approached,  and  took  up  a  strong  position.  We 
went  against  him,  but  all  our  efforts  to  beguile  him  out 
from  his  intrenchments  failed,  though  he  had  promised  us 
a  duel  in  the  open  field.  Night  shut  down.  Let  him  look 
out  for  the  morning !  But  in  the  morning  he  was  gone 
again. 


3Q6 

We  entered  Compiegne  the  iSth  of  August,  turning  out  the 
English  garrison  and  hoisting  our  own  flag. 

On  the  23d  Joan  gave  command  to  move  upon  Paris.  The 
King  and  the  clique  were  not  satisfied  with  this,  and  retired 
sulking  to  Senlis,  which  had  just  surrendered.  Within  a  few 
days  many  strong  places  submitted — Creil,  Pont-Saint-Max- 
ence,  Choisy,  Gournay-sur-Aronde,  Remy,  La  Neufville-en- 
Hez,  Moguay,  Chantilly,  Saintines.  The  English  power  was 
tumbling,  crash  after  crash !  And  still  the  King  sulked  and 
disapproved,  and  was  afraid  of  our  movement  against  the  cap 
ital. 

On  the  26th  of  August,  1429,  Joan  camped  at  Saint  Denis  ; 
in  effect,  under  the  walls  of  Paris. 

And  still  the  King  hung  back  and  was  afraid.  If  we  could 
but  have  had  him  there  to  back  us  with  his  authority !  Bed 
ford  had  lost  heart  and  decided  to  waive  resistance  and  £o 

t5 

and  concentrate  his  strength  in  the  best  and  loyalest  province 
remaining  to  him  —  Normandy.  Ah,  if  we  could  only  have 
persuaded  the  King  to  come  and  countenance  us  with  his 
presence  and  approval  at  this  supreme  moment ! 


CHAPTER   XL 

COURIER  after  courier  was  despatched  to  the  King,  and  he 
promised  to  come,  but  didn't.  The  Duke  d'Alengon  went  to 
him  and  got  his  promise  again,  which  he  broke  again.  Nine 
days  were  lost  thus ;  then  he  came,  arriving  at  St.  Denis 
September  yth. 

Meantime  the  enemy  had  begun  to  take  heart :  the  spirit 
less  conduct  of  the  King  could  have  no  other  result.  Prepa 
rations  had  now  been  made  to  defend  the  city.  Joan's  chances 
had  been  diminished,  but  she  and  her  generals  considered 
them  plenty  good  enough  yet.  Joan  ordered  the  attack  for 
eight  o'clock  next  morning,  and  at  that  hour  it  began. 

Joan  placed  her  artillery  and  began  to  pound  a  strong  work 
which  protected  the  gate  St.  Honore'.  When  it  was  sufficient 
ly  crippled  the  assault  was  sounded  at  noon,  and  it  was  car 
ried  by  storm.  Then  we  moved  forward  to  storm  the  gate 
itself,  and  hurled  ourselves  against  it  again  and  again,  Joan 
in  the  lead  with  her  standard  at  her  side,  the  smoke  envelop 
ing  us  in  choking  clouds,  and  the  missiles  flying  over  us  and 
through  us  as  thick  as  hail. 

In  the  midst  of  our  last  assault,  which  would  have  carried 
the  gate  sure  and  given  us  Paris  and  in  effect  France,  Joan 
was  struck  down  by  a  crossbow  bolt,  and  our  men  fell  back 
instantly  and  almost  in  a  panic — for  what  were  they  without 
her  ?  She  was  the  army,  herself. 

Although  disabled,  she  refused  to  retire,  and  begged  that  a 
new  assault  be  made,  saying  it  must  win ;  and  adding,  with 
the  battle-light  rising  in  her  eyes,  "  I  will  take  Paris  now  or 
die !"  She  had  to  be  carried  away  by  force,  and  this  was 
done  by  Gaucourt  and  the  Duke  d'Alengon. 


308 


But  her  spirits  were  at  the  very  top  notch,  now.  She  was 
brimming  with  enthusiasm.  She  said  she  would  be  carried 
before  the  gate  in  the  morning,  and  in  half  an  hour  Paris 
would  be  ours  without  any  question.  She  could  have  kept 
her  word.  About  this  there  is  no  doubt.  But  she  forgot  one 
factor — the  King,  shadow  of  that  substance  named  La  Tre- 
mouille.  The  King  forbade  the  attempt ! 

You  see,  a  new  Embassy  had  just  come  from  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  and  another  sham  private  trade  of  some  sort  was 
on  foot. 

You  would  know,  without  my  telling  you,  that  Joan's  heart 
was  nearly  broken.  Because  of  the  pain  of  her  wound  and 
the  pain  at  her  heart  she  slept  little  that  night.  Several  times 
the  watchers  heard  muffled  sobs  from  the  dark  room  where 
she  lay  at  St.  Denis,  and  many  times  the  grieving  words 
"It  could  have  been  taken!  —  it  could  have  been  taken!" 
which  were  the  only  ones  she  said. 

She  dragged  herself  out  of  bed  a  day  later  with  a  new 
hope.  D'Alengon  had  thrown  a  bridge  across  the  Seine  near 
St.  Denis.  Might  she  not  cross  by  that  and  assault  Paris  at 
another  point?  But  the  King  got  wind  of  it  and  broke  the 
bridge  down!  And  more — he  declared  the  campaign  ended  ! 
And  more  still — he  had  made  a  new  truce  and  a  long  one, 
in  which  he  had  agreed  to  leave  Paris  unthreatened  and  un 
molested,  and  go  back  to  the  Loire  whence  he  had  come ! 

Joan  of  Arc,  who  had  never  been  defeated  by  the  enemy, 
was  defeated  by  her  own  King.  She  had  said  once  that  all 
she  feared  for  her  cause  was  treachery.  It  had  struck  its 
first  blow  now.  She  hung  up  her  white  armor  in  the  royal 
basilica  of  St.  Denis,  and  went  and  asked  the  King  to  relieve 
her  of  her  functions  and  let  her  go  home.  As  usual,  she  was 
wise.  Grand  combinations,  far-reaching  great  military  moves 
were  at  an  end,  now  \  for  the  future,  when  the  truce  should 
end,  the  war  would  be  merely  a  war  of  random  and  idle  skir 
mishes,  apparently ;  work  suitable  for  subalterns,  and  not  re 
quiring  the  supervision  of  a  sublime  military  genius.  But  the 
King  would  not  let  her  go.  The  truce  did  not  embrace  all 


France ;  there  were  French  strongholds  to  be  watched  and 
preserved ;  he  would  need  her.  Really,  you  see,  Tremouille 
wanted  to  keep  her  where  he  could  balk  and  hinder  her. 

Now  came  her  Voices  again.  They  said,  "Remain  at  St. 
Denis"  There  was  no  explanation.  They  did  not  say  why. 
That  was  the  voice  of  God  ;  it  took  precedence  of  the  com 
mand  of  the  King;  Joan  resolved  to  stay.  But  that  filled 
La  Tremouille  with  dread.  She  was  too  tremendous  a  force 
to  be  left  to  herself ;  she  would  surely  defeat  all  his  plans. 
He  beguiled  the  King  to  use  compulsion.  Joan  had  to  sub 
mit — because  she  was  wounded  and  helpless.  In  the  Great 
Trial  she  said  she  was  carried  away  against  her  will;  and  that 
if  she  had  not  been  wounded  it  could  not  have  been  accom 
plished.  Ah,  she  had  a  spirit,  that  slender  girl !  a  spirit  to 
brave  all  earthly  powers  and  defy  them.  We  shall  never 
know  why  the  Voices  ordered  her  to  stay.  We  only  know 
this  :  that  if  she  could  have  obeyed,  the  history  of  France 
would  not  be  as  it  now  stands  written  in  the  books.  Yes,  well 
we  know  that. 

On  the  i3th  of  September  the  army,  sad  and  spiritless, 
turned  its  face  toward  the  Loire,  and  marched — without  mu 
sic  !  Yes,  one  noted  that  detail.  It  was  a  funeral  march ; 
that  is  what  it  was.  A  long,  dreary  funeral  march,  with  never 
a  shout  or  a  cheer ;  friends  looking  on  in  tears,  all  the  way, 
enemies  laughing.  We  reached  Gien  at  last  —  that  place 
whence  we  had  set  out  on  our  splendid  march  toward  Rheims 
less  than  three  months  before,  with  flags  flying,  bands  playing, 
the  victory-flush  of  Patay  glowing  in  our  faces,  and  the  massed 
multitudes  shouting  and  praising  and  giving  us  God-speed. 
There  was  a  dull  rain  falling  now,  the  day  was  dark,  the  heav 
ens  mourned,  the  spectators  were  few,  we  had  no  welcome  but 
the  welcome  of  silence,  and  pity,  and  tears. 

Then  the  King  disbanded  that  noble  army  of  heroes ;  it 
furled  its  flags,  it  stored  its  arms  :  the  disgrace  of  France  was 
complete.  La  Tremouille  wore  the  victor's  crown ;  Joan  of 
Arc,  the  unconquerable,  was  conquered. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

YES,  it  was  as  I  have  said :  Joan  had  Paris  and  France  in 
her  grip,  and  the  Hundred  Years'  War  under  her  heel,  and  the 
King  made  her  open  her  fist  and  take  away  her  foot. 

Now  followed  about  eight  months  of  drifting  about  with 
the  King  and  his  council,  and  his  gay  and  showy  and  dancing 
and  flirting  and  hawking  and  frolicking  and  serenading  and 
dissipating  court — drifting  from  town  to  town  and  from  castle 
to  castle — a  life  which  was  pleasant  to  us  of  the  personal 
staff,  but  not  to  Joan.  However,  she  only  saw  it,  she  didn't 
live  it.  The  King  did  his  sincerest  best  to  make  her  happy, 
and  showed  a  most  kind  and  constant  anxiety  in  this  matter. 
All  others  had  to  go  loaded  with  the  chains  of  an  exacting 
court  etiquette,  but  she  was  free,  she  was  privileged.  So  that 
she  paid  her  duty  to  the  King  once  a  day  and  passed  the  pleas 
ant  word,  nothing  further  was  required  of  her.  Naturally, 
then,  she  made  herself  a  hermit,  and  grieved  the  weary  days 
through  in  her  own  apartments,  with  her  thoughts  and  devo 
tions  for  company,  and  the  planning  of  new  forever  unrealiz 
able  military  combinations  for  entertainment.  In  fancy  she 
moved  bodies  of  men  from  this  and  that  and  the  other  point, 
so  calculating  the  distances  to  be  covered,  the  time  required 
for  each  body,  and  the  nature  of  the  country  to  be  traversed, 
as  to  have  them  appear  in  sight  of  each  other  on  a  given  day 
or  at  a  given  hour  and  concentrate  for  battle.  It  was  her 
only  game,  her  only  relief  from  her  burden  of  sorrow  and  in 
action.  She  played  it  hour  after  hour,  as  others  play  chess ; 
and  lost  herself  in  it,  and  so  got  repose  for  her  mind  and  heal 
ing  for  her  heart. 

She  never  complained,  of  course.    It  was  not  her  way.    She 


was  the  sort  that  endure  in  silence.  But — she  was  a  caged 
eagle  just  the  same,  and  pined  for  the  free  air  and  the  alpine 
heights  and  the  fierce  joys  of  the  storm. 

France  was  full  of  rovers — disbanded  soldiers  ready  for 
anything  that  might  turn  up.  Several  times,  at  intervals, 
when  Joan's  dull  captivity  grew  too  heavy  to  bear,  she  was 
allowed  to  gather  a  troop  of  cavalry  and  make  a  health- 
restoring  dasli  against  the  enemy.  These  things  were  like  a 
bath  to  her  spirits. 

It  was  like  old  times,  there  at  Saint-Pierre-le-Moutier,  to  see 
her  lead  assault  after  assault,  be  driven  back  again  and  again, 
but  always  rally  and  charge  anew,  all  in  a  blaze  of  eagerness 
and  delight;  till  at  last  the  tempest  of  missiles  rained  so  intol 
erably  thick  that  old  D'Aulon,  who  was  wounded,  sounded  the 
retreat  (for  the  King  had  charged  him  on  his  head  to  let  no 
harm  come  to  Joan) ;  and  away  everybody  rushed  after  him — 
as  he  supposed  ;  but  when  he  turned  and  looked,  there  were 
we  of  the  staff  still  hammering  away ;  wherefore  he  rode  back 
and  urged  her  to  come,  saying  she  was  mad  to  stay  there  with 
only  a  dozen  men.  Her  eye  danced  merrily,  and  she  turned 
upon  him  crying  out — 

"A  dozen  men  !  name  of  God,  I  have  fifty  thousand,  and 
will  never  budge  till  this  place  is  taken  !  Sound  the  charge !" 

Which  he  did,  and  over  the  walls  we  went,  and  the  fortress 
was  ours.  Old  D'Aulon  thought  her  mind  was  wandering; 
but  all  she  meant  was,  that  she  felt  the  might  of  fifty  thou 
sand  men  surging  in  her  heart.  It  was  a  fanciful  expression  ; 
but,  to  my  thinking,  truer  word  was  never  said. 

Then  there  was  the  affair  near  Lagny,  where  we  charged 
the  intrenched  Burgundians  through  the  open  field  four  times, 
the  last  time  victoriously ;  the  best  prize  of  it  Franquet  d' Ar 
ras,  the  freebooter  and  pitiless  scourge  of  the  region  round 
about. 

Now  and  then  other  such  affairs ;  and  at  last,  away  toward 
the  end  of  May,  1430,  we  were  in  the  neighborhood  of  Com- 
piegne,  and  Joan  resolved  to  go  to  the  help  of  that  place, 
which  was  being  besieged  by  the  Duke  of  Burgundy. 


I  had  been  wounded  lately,  and  was  not  able  to  ride  with 
out  help ;  but  the  good  Dwarf  took  me  on  behind  him,  and  I 
held  on  to  him  and  was  safe  enough.  We  started  at  midnight, 
in  a  sullen  downpour  of  warm  rain,  and  went  slowly  and  softly 
and  in  dead  silence,  for  we  had  to  slip  through  the  enemy's 
lines.  We  were  challenged  only  once ;  we  made  no  answer, 
but  held  our  breath  and  crept  steadily  and  stealthily  along, 
and  got  through  without  any  accident.  About  three  or  half 
past  we  reached  Compiegne,  just  as  the  gray  dawn  was  break 
ing  in  the  east. 

Joan  set  to  work  at  once,  and  concerted  a  plan  with  Guil- 
laume  de  Flavy,  captain  of  the  city — a  plan  for  a  sortie  toward 
evening  against  the  enemy,  who  was  posted  in  three  bodies  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Oise,  in  the  level  plain.  From  our  side 
one  of  the  city  gates  communicated  with  a  bridge.  The  end  of 
this  bridge  was  defended  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  by  one 
of  those  fortresses  called  a  boulevard  ;  and  this  boulevard  also 
commanded  a  raised  road,  which  stretched  from  its  front  across 
the  plain  to  the  village  of  Marguy.  A  force  of  Burgundians 
occupied  Marguy ;  another  was  camped  at  Clairoix,  a  couple 
of  miles  above  the  raised  road ;  and  a  body  of  English  was 
holding  Venette,  a  mile  and  a  half  below  it.  A  kind  of  bow- 
and-arrow  arrangement,  you  see  :  the  causeway  the  arrow,  the 
boulevard  at  the  feather-end  of  it,  Marguy  at  the  barb,  Ve 
nette  at  one  end  of  the  bow,  Clairoix  at  the  other. 

Joan's  plan  was  to  go  straight  per  causeway  against  Mar- 
guy,  carry  it  by  assault,  then  turn  swiftly  upon  Clairoix,  up  to 
the  right,  and  capture  that  camp  in  the  same  way,  then  face 
to  the  rear  and  be  ready  for  heavy  work,  for  the  Duke  of  Bur 
gundy  lay  behind  Clairoix  with  a  reserve.  Flavy's  lieutenant, 
with  archers  and  the  artillery  of  the  boulevard,  was  to  keep 
the  English  troops  from  coming  up  from  below  and  seizing  the 
causeway  and  cutting  off  Joan's  retreat  in  case  she  should 
have  to  make  one.  Also,  a  fleet  of  covered  boats  was  to  be 
stationed  near  the  boulevard  as  an  additional  help  in  case  a 
retreat  should  become  necessary. 

It  was  the  24th  of  May.     At  four  in  the  afternoon  Joan 


moved  out  at  the  head  of  six  hundred  cavalry — on  her  last 
march  in  this  life ! 

It  breaks  my  heart.  I  had  got  myself  helped  up  on  to  the 
walls,  and  from  there  I  saw  much  that  happened,  the  rest  was 
told  me  long  afterwards  by  our  two  knights  and  other  eye-wit 
nesses.  Joan  crossed  the  bridge,  and  soon  left  the  boulevard 
behind  her  and  went  skimming  away  over  the  raised  road  with 
her  horsemen  clattering  at  her  heels.  She  had  on  a  brilliant 
silver-gilt  cape  over  her  armor,  and  I  could  see  it  flap  and 
flare  and  rise  and  fall  like  a  little  patch  of  white  flame. 

It  was  a  bright  day,  and  one  could  see  far  and  wide  over 
that  plain.  Soon  we  saw  the  English  force  advancing,  swiftly 
and  in  handsome  order,  the  sunlight  flashing  from  its  arms. 

Joan  crashed  into  the  Burgundians  at  Marguy  and  was  re 
pulsed.  Then  we  saw  the  other  Burgundians  moving  down 
from  Clairoix.  Joan  rallied  her  men  and  charged  again,  and 
was  again  rolled  back.  Two  assaults  occupy  a  good  deal  of 
time  —  and  time  was  precious  here.  The  English  were  ap 
proaching  the  road,  now,  from  Venette,  but  the  boulevard 
opened  fire  on  them  and  they  were  checked.  Joan  heartened 
her  men  with  inspiring  words  and  led  them  to  the  charge 
again  in  great  style.  This  time  she  carried  Marguy  with  a 
hurrah.  Then  she  turned  at  once  to  the  right  and  plunged 
into  the  plain  and  struck  the  Clairoix  force,  which  was  just 
arriving;  then  there  was  heavy  work,  and  plenty  of  it,  the 
two  armies  hurling  each  other  backward  turn  about  and  about, 
and  victory  inclining  first  to  the  one,  then  to  the  other. 
Now  all  of  a  sudden  there  was  a  panic  on  our  side.  Some 
say  one  thing  caused  it,  some  another.  Some  say  the  can 
nonade  made  our  front  ranks  think  retreat  was  being:  cut  off 

o 

by  the  English,  some  say  the  rear  ranks  got  the  idea  that  Joan 
was  killed.  Anyway  our  men  broke,  and  went  flying  in  a  wild 
rout  for  the  causeway.  Joan  tried  to  rally  them  and  face  them 
around,  crying  to  them  that  victory  was  sure,  but  it  did  no 
good,  they  divided  and  swept  by  her  like  a  wave.  Old  D'Au- 
lon  begged  her  to  retreat  while  there  was  yet  a  chance  for 
safety,  but  she  refused ;  so  he  seized  her  horse's  bridle  and 


314 

bore  her  along  with  the  wreck  and  ruin  in  spite  of  herself. 
And  so  along  the  causeway  they  came  swarming,  that  wild 
confusion  of  frenzied  men  and  horses — and  the  artillery  had 
to  stop  firing,  of  course ;  consequently  the  English  and  Bur- 
gundians  closed  in  in  safety,  the  former  in  front,  the  latter 
behind  their  prey.  Clear  to  the  boulevard  the  French  were 
washed  in  this  enveloping  inundation ;  and  there,  cornered  in 
an  angle  formed  by  the  flank  of  the  boulevard  and  the  slope  of 
the  causeway,  they  bravely  fought  a  hopeless  fight,  and  sank 
down  one  by  one. 

Flavy,  watching  from  the  city  wall,  ordered  the  gate  to  be 
closed  and  the  drawbridge  raised.  This  shut  Joan  out. 

The  little  personal  guard  around  her  thinned  swiftly. 
Both  of  our  good  knights  went  down,  disabled;  Joan's  two 
brothers  fell  wounded  ;  then  Noel  Rainguesson — all  wounded 
while  loyally  sheltering  Joan  from  blows  aimed  at  her.  When 
only  the  Dwarf  and  the  Paladin  were  left,  they  would  not 
give  up,  but  stood  their  ground  stoutly,  a  pair  of  steel  towers 
streaked  and  splashed  with  blood ;  and  where  the  axe  of  the 
one  fell,  and  the  sword  of  the  other,  an  enemy  gasped  and 
died.  And  so  fighting,  and  loyal  to  their  duty  to  the  last, 
good  simple  souls,  they  came  to  their  honorable  end.  Peace 
to  their  memories !  they  were  very  dear  to  me. 

Then  there  was  a  cheer  and  a  rush,  and  Joan,  still  defiant, 
still  laying  about  her  with  her  sword,  was  seized  by  her 
cape  and  dragged  from  her  horse.  She  was  borne  away  a 
prisoner  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy's  camp,  and  after  her  fol 
lowed  the  victorious  army  roaring  its  joy. 

The  awful  news  started  instantly  on  its  round ;  from  lip  to 
lip  it  flew ;  and  wherever  it  came  it  struck  the  people  as  with 
a  sort  of  paralysis  ;  and  they  murmured  over  and  over  again, 
as  if  they  were  talking  to  themselves,  or  in  their  sleep,  "The 
Maid  of  Orleans  taken !  .  .  .  Joan  of  Arc  a  prisoner !  .  .  .  the 
Savior  of  France  lost  to  us  !" — and  would  keep  saying  that 
over,  as  if  they  couldn't  understand  how  it  could  be,  or  how 
God  could  permit  it,  poor  creatures  ! 

You  know  what  a  city  is  like  when  it  is  hung  from  eaves  to 


pavement  with  rustling  black  ?  Then  you  know  what  Tours 
was  like,  and  some  other  cities.  But  can  any  man  tell  you 
what  the  mourning  in  the  hearts  of  the  peasantry  of  France 
was  like  ?  No,  nobody  can  tell  you  that ;  and,  poor  dumb 
things,  they  could  not  have  told  you  themselves ;  but  it  was 
there — indeed  yes.  Why,  it  was  the  spirit  of  a  whole  nation 
hung  with  crape ! 

The  24th  of  May.  We  will  draw  down  the  curtain,  now, 
upon  the  most  strange,  and  pathetic,  and  wonderful  military 
drama  that  has  been  played  upon  the  stage  of  the  world. 
Joan  of  Arc  will  march  no  more. 


TRIAL    AND     MARTYRDOM 


CHAPTER    I 

I  CANNOT  bear  to  dwell  at  great  length  upon  the  shameful 
history  of  the  summer  and  winter  following  the  capture.  For 
a  while  I  was  not  much  troubled,  for  I  was  expecting  every  day 
to  hear  that  Joan  had  been  put  to  ransom,  and  that  the  King 
— no,  not  the  King,  but  grateful  France — had  come  eagerly 
forward  to  pay  it.  By  the  laws  of  war  she  could  not  be  de 
nied  the  privilege  of  ransom.  She  was  not  a  rebel ;  she  was 
a  legitimately  constituted  soldier,  head  of  the  armies  of 
France  by  her  King's  appointment,  and  guilty  of  no  crime 
known  to  military  law;  therefore  she  could  not  be  detained 
upon  any  pretext,  if  ransom  were  proffered. 

But  clay  after  day  dragged  .by  and  no  ransom  was  offered  ! 
It  seems  incredible,  but  it  is  true.  Was  that  reptile  Tre- 
mouille  busy  at  the  King's  ear?  All  we  know  is,  that  the 
King  was  silent,  and  made  no  offer  and  no  effort  in  behalf  of 
this  poor  girl  who  had  done  so  much  for  him. 

But  unhappily  there  was  alacrity  enough  in  another  quarter. 
The  news  of  the  capture  reached  Paris  the  day  after  it  hap 
pened,  and  the  glad  English  and  Burgundians  deafened  the 
world  all  the  day  and  all  the  night  with  the  clamor  of  their 
joy- bells  and  the  thankful  thunder  of  their  artillery;  and 
the  next  day  the  Vicar  General  of  the  Inquisition  sent  a 
message  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  requiring  the  delivery  of 
the  prisoner  into  the  hands  of  the  Church  to  be  tried  as  an 
idolater. 

The  English  had  seen  their  opportunity,  and  it  was  the 
English  power  that  was  really  acting,  not  the  Church.  The 
Church  was  being  used  as  a  blind,  a  disguise  ;  and  for  a  forci 
ble  reason  :  the  Church  was  not  only  able  to  take  the  life  of 


320 

Joan  of  Arc,  but  to  blight  her  influence  and  the  valor-breeding 
inspiration  of  her  name,  whereas  the  English  power  could  but 
kill  her  body;  that  would  not  diminish  or  destroy  the  influ 
ence  of  her  name  ;  it  would  magnify  it  and  make  it  permanent. 
Joan  of  Arc  was  the  only  power  in  France  that  the  English 
did  not  despise,  the  only  power  in  France  that  they  con 
sidered  formidable.  If  the  Church  could  be  brought  to  take 
her  life,  or  to  proclaim  her  an  idolater,  a  heretic,  a  witch,  sent 
from  Satan,  not  from  heaven,  it  was  believed  that  the  English 
supremacy  could  be 'at  once  reinstated. 

The  Duke  of  Burgundy  listened — but  waited.  He  could 
not  doubt  that  the  French  King  or  the  French  people  would 
come  forward  presently  and  pay  a  higher  price  than  the  Eng 
lish.  He  kept  Joan  a  close  prisoner  in  a  strong  fortress,  and 
continued  to  wait,  week  after  week.  He  was  a  French  Prince, 
and  was  at  heart  ashamed  to  sell  her  to  the  English.  Yet 
with  all  his  waiting  no  offer  came  to  him  from  the  French 
side. 

One  day  Joan  played  a  cunning  trick  on  her  jailer,  and  not 
only  slipped  out  of  her  prison,  but  locked  him  up  in  it.  But 
as  she  fled  away  she  was  seen  by  a  sentinel,  and  was  caught 
and  brought  back. 

Then  she  was  sent  to  Beaurevoir,  a  stronger  castle.  This 
was  early  in  August,  and  she  had  been  in  captivity  more  than 
two  months,  now.  Here  she  was  shut  up  in  the  top  of  a  tower 
which  was  sixty  feet  high.  She  ate  her  heart  there  for  an 
other  long  stretch — about  three  months  and  a  half.  And  she 
was  aware,  all  these  weary  five  months  of  captivity,  that  the 
English,  under  cover  of  the  Church,  were  dickering  for  her  as 
one  would  dicker  for  a  horse  or  a  slave,  and  that  France  was 
silent,  the  King  silent,  all  her  friends  the  same.  Yes,  it  was 
pitiful. 

And  yet  when  she  heard  at  last  that  Compiegne  was  being 
closely  besieged  and  likely  to  be  captured,  and  that  the  ene 
my  had  declared  that  no  inhabitant  of  it  should  escape  mas 
sacre,  not  even  children  of  seven  years  of  age,  she  was  in  a 
fever  at  once  to  fly  to  our  rescue.  So  she  tore  her  bed- 


321 

clothes  to  strips  and  tied  them  together  and  descended  this 
frail  rope  in  the  night,  and  it  broke  and  she  fell  and  was  bad 
ly  bruised,  and  remained  three  days  insensible,  meantime  nei 
ther  eating  nor  drinking. 

And  now  came  relief  to  us,  led  by  the  Count  of  Venclome, 
and  Compiegne.was  saved  and  the  siege  raised.  This  was  a 
disaster  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy.  He  had  to  have  money, 
now.  It  was  a  good  time  for  a  new  bid  to  be  made  for  Joan 
of  Arc.  The  English  at  once  sent  a  French  Bishop  —  that 
forever  infamous  Pierre  Cauchon  of  Beauvais.  He  was 
partly  promised  the  Archbishopric  of  Rouen,  which  was  va 
cant,  if  he  should  succeed.  He  claimed  the  right  to  preside 
over  Joan's  ecclesiastical  trial  because  the  battle  -  ground 
where  she  was  taken  was  within  his  diocese. 

By  the  military  usage  of  the  time  the  ransom  of  a  royal 
Prince  was  10,000  livres  of  gold,  which  is  61,125  francs — a 
fixed  sum,  you  see.  It  must  be  accepted,  when  offered  ;  it 
could  not  be  refused. 

Cauchon  brought  the  offer  of  this  very  sum  from  the  Eng 
lish — a  royal  Prince's  ransom  for  the  poor  little  peasant  girl 
of  Domremy.  It  shows  in  a  striking  way  the  English  idea  of 
her  formidable  importance.  It  was  accepted.  For  that  sum 
Joan  of  Arc  the  Savior  of  France  was  sold ;  sold  to  her  ene 
mies  ;  to  the  enemies  of  her  country;  enemies  who  had  lashed 
and  thrashed  and  thumped  and  trounced  France  for  a  centu 
ry  and  made  holiday  sport  of  it ;  enemies  who  had  forgotten, 
years  and  years  ago,  what  a  Frenchman's  face  was  like,  so 
used  were  they  to  seeing  nothing  but  his  back ;  enemies 
whom  she  had  whipped,  whom  she  had  cowed,  whom  she 
had  taught  to  respect  French  valor,  new-born  in  her  na 
tion  by  the  breath  of  her  spirit ;  enemies  who  hungered  for 
her  life  as  being  the  only  puissance  able  to  stand  between 
English  triumph  and  French  degradation.  Sold  to  a  French 
priest  by  a  French  Prince,  with  the  French  King  and  the 
French  nation  standing  thankless  by  and  saying  noth 
ing. 

And  she — what  did  she  say  ?     Nothing.     Not  a  reproach 


322 


passed  her  lips.  She  was  too  great  for  that — she  was  Joan  of 
Arc ;  and  when  that  is  said,  all  is  said. 

As  a  soldier,  her  record  was  spotless.  She  could  not  be 
called  to  account  for  anything  under  that  head.  A  subter 
fuge  must  be  found,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  was  found.  She 
must  be  tried  by  priests  for  crimes  against  religion.  If  none 
could  be  discovered,  some  must  be  invented.  Let  the  mis 
creant  Cauchon  alone  to  contrive  those. 

Rouen  was  chosen  as  the  scene  of  the  trial.  It  was  in  the 
heart  of  the  English  power  -,  its  population  had  been  under 
English  dominion  so  many  generations  that  they  were  hardly 
French  now,  save  in  language.  The  place  was  strongly  gar 
risoned.  Joan  was  taken  there  near  the  end  of  December, 
1430,  and  flung  into  a  dungeon.  Yes,  and  clothed  in  chains, 
that  free  spirit ! 

Still  France  made  no  move.  How  do  I  account  for  this  ? 
I  think  there  is  only  one  way.  You  will  remember  that 
whenever  Joan  was  not  at  the  front,  the  French  held  back  and 
ventured  nothing ;  that  whenever  she  led,  they  swept  every 
thing  before  them,  so  long  as  they  could  see  her  white  armor 
or  her  banner;  that  every  time  she  fell  wounded  or  was  re 
ported  killed — as  at  Compiegne — they  broke  in  panic  and 
fled  like  sheep.  I  argue  from  this  that  they  had  undergone 
no  real  transformation  as  yet ;  that  at  bottom  they  were  still 
under  the  spell  of  a  timorousness  born  of  generations  of  un- 
success,  and  a  lack  of  confidence  in  each  other  and  in  their 
leaders  born  of  old  and  bitter  experience  in  the  way  of 
treacheries  of  all  sorts — for  their  kings  had  been  treacherous 
to  their  great  vassals  and  to  their  generals,  and  these  in  turn 
were  treacherous  to  the  head  of  the  state  and  to  each  other. 
The  soldiery  found  that  they  could  depend  utterly  on  Joan, 
and  upon  her  alone.  With  her  gone,  everything  was  gone. 
She  was  the  sun  that  melted  the  frozen  torrents  and  set  them 
boiling ;  with  that  sun  removed,  they  froze  again,  and  the 
army  and  all  France  became  what  they  had  been  before,  mere 
dead  corpses — that  and  nothing  more ;  incapable  of  thought, 
hope,  ambition,  or  motion. 


•as- 


-•*•<"::       IK' 


JACQUES  D'ARC  AND  UNCLE  LAXART-  WATCHING  THE  PROCESSION 


CHAPTER   II 

MY  wound  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  trouble  clear  into  the 
first  part  of  October ;  then  the  fresher  weather  renewed  my 
life  and  strength.  All  this  time  there  were  reports  drifting 
about  that  the  King  was  going  to  ransom  Joan.  I  believed 
these,  for  I  was  young  and  had  not  yet  found  out  the  little 
ness  and  meanness  of  our  poor  human  race,  which  brags 
about  itself  so  much,  and  thinks  it  is  better  and  higher  than 
the  other  animals. 

In  October  I  was  well  enough  to  go  out  with  two  sorties, 
and  in  the  second  one,  on  the  23d,  I  was  wounded  again. 
My  luck  had  turned,  you  see.  On  the  night  of  the  25111  the 
besiegers  decamped,  and  in  the  disorder  and  confusion  one 
of  their  prisoners  escaped  and  got  safe  into  Compiegne,  and 
hobbled  into  my  room  as  pallid  and  pathetic  an  object  as  you 
would  wish  to  see. 

"  What  ?     Alive  ?     Noel  Rainguesson  !" 

It  was  indeed  he.  It  was  a  most  joyful  meeting,  that  you 
will  easily  know ;  and  also  as  sad  as  it  was  joyful.  We  could 
not  speak  Joan's  name.  One's  voice  would  have  broken 
down.  We  knew  who  was  meant  when  she  was  mentioned ; 
we  could  say  "  she  "  and  "  her,"  but  we  could  not  speak  the 
name. 

We  talked  of  the  personal  staff.  Old  D'Aulon,  wounded 
and  a  prisoner,  was  still  with  Joan  and  serving  her,  by  per 
mission  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy.  Joan  was  being  treated 
with  the  respect  due  to  her  rank  and  to  her  character  as  a 
prisoner  of  war  taken  in  honorable  conflict.  And  this  was 
continued — as  we  learned  later — until  she  fell  into  the  hands 
of  that  bastard  of  Satan,  Pierre  Cauchon,  Bishop  of  Beauvais. 


324 


Noel  was  full  of  noble  and  affectionate  praises  and  appre 
ciations  of  our  old  boastful  big  Standard-bearer,  now  gone 
silent  forever,  his  real  and  imaginary  battles  all  fought,  his 
work  done,  his  life  honorably  closed  and  completed. 

"And  think  of  his  luck!"  burst  out  Noel,  with  his  eyes  full 
of  tears.  "  Always  the  pet  child  of  luck  !  See  how  it  followed 
him  and  stayed  by  him,  from  his  first  step  all  through,  in  the 
field  or  out  of  it;  always  a  splendid  figure  in  the  public  eye, 
courted  and  envied  everywhere ;  always  having  a  chance  to 
do  fine  things  and  always  doing  them  ;  in  the  beginning  called 
the  Paladin  in  joke,  and  called  it  afterwards  in  earnest  be 
cause  he  magnificently  made  the  title  good ;  and  at  last— 
supremest  luck  of  all — died  in  the  field  !  died  with  his  harness 
on  ;  died  faithful  to  his  charge,  the  Standard  in  his  hand ; 
died — oh,  think  of  it — with  the  approving  eye  of  Joan  of  Arc 
upon  him  !  He  drained  the  cup  of  glory  to  the  last  drop, 
and  went  jubilant  to  his  peace,  blessedly  spared  all  part  in  the 
disaster  which  was  to  follow.  What  luck,  what  luck  !  And 
we?  What  was  our  sin  that  we  are  still  here,  we  who  have 
also  earned  our  place  with  the  happy  dead  ?" 

And  presently  he  said  : 

"  They  tore  the  sacred  Standard  from  his  dead  hand  and 
carried  it  away,  their  most  precious  prize  after  its  captured 
owner.  But  they  haven't  it  now.  A  month  ago  we  put  our 
lives  upon  the  risk — our  two  good  knights,  my  fellow-prison 
ers,  and  I — and  stole  it,  and  got  it  smuggled  by  trusty  hands  to 
Orleans,  and  there  it  is  now,  safe  for  all  time  in  the  Treasury." 

I  was  glad  and  grateful  to  learn  that.  I  have  seen  it  often 
since,  when  I  have  gone  to  Orleans  on  the  8th  of  May  to  be 
the  petted  old  guest  of  the  city  and  hold  the  first  place  of 
honor  at  the  banquets  and  in  the  processions— I  mean  since 
Joan's  brothers  passed  from  this  life.  It  will  still  be  there, 
sacredly  guarded  by  French  love,  a  thousand  years  from  now 
— yes,  as  long  as  any  shred  of  it  hangs  together.* 

*  It  remained  there  three  hundred  and  sixty  years,  and  then  was  de 
stroyed  in  a  public  bonfire,  together  with  two  swords,  a  plumed  cap,  several 


325 

Two  or  three  weeks  after  this  talk  came  the  tremendous 
news  like  a  thunder-clap,  and  we  were  aghast — Joan  of  Arc 
sold  to  the  English ! 

Not  for  a  moment  had  we  ever  dreamed  of  such  a  thing. 
We  were  young,  you  see,  and  did  not  know  the  human  race, 
as  I  have  said  before.  We  had  been  so  proud  of  our  country, 
so  sure  of  her  nobleness,  her  magnanimity,  her  gratitude. 
We  had  expected  little  of  the  King,  but  of  France  we  had  ex 
pected  everything.  Everybody  knew  that  in  various  towns 
patriot  priests  had  been  marching  in  procession  urging  the  peo 
ple  to  sacrifice  money,  property,  everything,  and  buy  the  free 
dom  of  their  heaven-sent  deliverer.  That  the  money  would 
be  raised  we  had  not  thought  of  doubting. 

But  it  was  all  over,  now,  all  over.  It  was  a  bitter  time  for 
us.  The  heavens  seemed  hung  with  black  ;  all  cheer  went  out 
from  our  hearts.  Was  this  comrade  here  at  my  bedside  really 
Noel  Rainguesson,  that  light-hearted  creature  whose  whole 
life  was  but  one  long  joke,  and  who  used  up  more  breath  in 
laughter  than  in  keeping  his  body  alive  ?  No,  no  ;  that  Noel 
I  was  to  see  no  more.  This  one's  heart  was  broken.  He 
moved  grieving  about,  and  absently,  like  one  in  a  dream ;  the 
stream  of  his  laughter  was  dried  at  its  source. 

Well,  that  was  best.  It  was  my  own  mood.  We  were  com 
pany  for  each  other.  He  nursed  me  patiently  through  the  dull 
long  weeks,  and  at  last,  in  January,  I  was  strong  enough  to  go 
about  again.  Then  he  said  : 

"Shall  we  go,  now?" 

suits  of  state  apparel,  and  other  relics  of  the  Maid,  by  a  mob  in  the  time 
of  the  Revolution.  Nothing  which  the  hand  of  Joan  of  Arc  is  known  to 
have  touched  now  remains  in  existence  except  a  few  preciously  guarded 
military  and  state  papers  which  she  signed,  her  pen  being  guided  by  a 
clerk  or  her  secretary  Louis  de  Conte.  A  bowlder  exists  from  which  she 
is  known  to  have  mounted  her  horse  when  she  was  once  setting  out  upon 
a  campaign.  Up  to  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  there  was  a  single  hair 
from  her  head  still  in  existence.  It  was  drawn  through  the  wax  of  a  seal 
attached  to  the  parchment  of  a  state  document.  It  was  surreptitiously 
snipped  out,  seal  and  all,  by  some  vandal  relic-hunter,  and  carried  off. 
Doubtless  it  still  exists,  but  only  the  thief  knows  where. — TRANSLATOR. 


326 


"Yes." 

There,  was  no  need  to  explain.  Our  hearts  were  in  Rouen, 
we  would  carry  our  bodies  there.  All  that  we  cared  for  in 
this  life  was  shut  up  in  that  fortress.  We  could  not  help  her, 
but  it  would  be  some  solace  to  us  to  be  near  her,  to  breathe 
the  air  that  she  breathed,  and  look  daily  upon  the  stone  walls 
that  hid  her.  What  if  we  should  be  made  prisoners  there  ? 
Well,  we  could  but  do  our  best,  and  let  luck  and  fate  decide 
what  should  happen. 

And  so  we  started.  We  could  not  realize  the  change  which 
had  come  upon  the  country.  We  seemed  able  to  choose  our 
own  route  and  go  wherever  we  pleased,  unchallenged  and  un 
molested.  When  Joan  of  Arc  was  in  the  field,  there  was  a 
sort  of  panic  of  fear  everywhere ;  but  now  that  she  was  out  of 
the  way,  fear  had  vanished.  Nobody  was  troubled  about  you 
or  afraid  of  you,  nobody  was  curious  about  you  or  your  busi 
ness,  everybody  was  indifferent. 

We  presently  saw  that  we  could  take  to  the  Seine,  and  not 
weary  ourselves  out  with  land  travel.  So  we  did  it,  and  were 
carried  in  a  boat  to  within  a  league  of  Rouen.  Then  we  got 
ashore ;  not  on  the  hilly  side,  but  on  the  other,  where  it  is  as 
level  as  a  floor.  Nobody  could  enter  or  leave  the  city  without 
explaining  himself.  It  was  because  they  feared  attempts  at  a 
rescue  of  Joan. 

We  had  no  trouble.  We  stopped  in  the  plain  with  a  family 
of  peasants  and  stayed  a  week,  helping  them  with  their  work 
for  board  and  lodging,  and  making  friends  of  them.  We 
got  clothes  like  theirs,  and  wore  them.  When  we  had  worked 
our  way  through  their  reserves  and  gotten  their  confidence, 
we  found  that  they  secretly  harbored  French  hearts  in  their 
bodies.  Then  we  came  out  frankly  and  told  them  everything, 
and  found  them  ready  to  do  anything  they  could  to  help  us. 
Our  plan  was  soon  made,  and  was  quite  simple.  It  was  to 
help  them  drive  a  flock  of  sheep  to  the  market  of  the  city, 
One  morning  early  we  made  the  venture  in  a  melancholy 
drizzle  of  rain,  and  passed  through  the  frowning  gates  unmo 
lested.  Our  friends  had  friends  living  over  a  humble  wine-shop 


327 

in  a  quaint  tall  building  situated  in  one  of  the  narrow  lanes 
that  run  down  from  the  cathedral  to  the  river,  and  with  these 
they  bestowed  us ;  and  the  next  day  they  smuggled  our  own 
proper  clothing  and  other  belongings  to  us.  The  family  that 
lodged  us — the  Pierrons — were  French  in  sympathy,  and  we 
needed  to  have  no  secrets  from  them. 


CHAPTER   III 

IT  was  necessary  for  me  to  have  some  way  to  gain  bread 
for  Noel  and  myself ;  and  when  the  Pierrons  found  that  I 
knew  how  to  write,  they  applied  to  their  confessor  in  my  be 
half,  and  he  got  a  place  for  me  with  a  good  priest  named 
Manchon,  who  was  to  be  the  chief  recorder  in  the  Great  Trial 
of  Joan  of  Arc  now  approaching.  It  was  a  strange  position 
for  me — clerk  to  the  recorder — and  dangerous  if  my  sympa 
thies  and  late  employment  should  be  found  out.  But  there 
was  not  much  danger.  Manchon  was  at  bottom  friendly  to 
Joan  and  would  not  betray  me;  and  my  name  would  not,  for 
I  had  discarded  my  surname  and  retained  only  my  given  one, 
like  a  person  of  low  degree. 

I  attended  Manchon  constantly  straight  along,  out  of  Janu 
ary  and  into  February,  and  was  often  in  the  citadel  with  him 
— in  the  very  fortress  where  Joan  was  imprisoned,  though  not 
in  the  dungeon  where  she  was  confined,  and  so  did  not  see 
her,  of  course. 

Manchon  told  me  'everything  that  had  been  happening  be 
fore  my  coming.  Ever  since  the  purchase  of  Joan,  Cauchon 
had  been  busy  packing  his  jury  for  the  destruction  of  the  Maid 
— weeks  and  weeks  he  had  spent  in  this  bad  industry.  The 
University  of  Paris  had  sent  him  a  number  of  learned  and 
able  and  trusty  ecclesiastics  of  the  stripe  he  wanted ;  and  he 
had  scraped  together  a  clergyman  of  like  stripe  and  great 
fame  here  and  there  and  yonder,  until  he  was  able  to  construct 
a  formidable  court  numbering  half  a  hundred  distinguished 
names.  French  names  they  were,  but  their  interests  and  sym 
pathies  were  English. 

A  great  officer  of  the  Inquisition  was  also  sent  from  Paris, 


329 


for  the  accused  must  be  tried  by  the  forms  of  the  Inquisition ; 
but  this  was  a  brave  and  righteous  man,  and  he  said  squarely 
that  this  court  had  no  power  to  try  the  case,  wherefore  he  re 
fused  to  act ;  and  the  same  honest  talk  was  uttered  by  two  or 
three  others. 

The  Inquisitor  was  right.  The  case  as  here  resurrected 
against  Joan  had  already  been  tried  long  ago  at  Poitiers,  and 
decided  in  her  favor.  Yes,  and  by  a  higher  tribunal  than 
this  one,  for  at  the  head  of  it  was  an  Archbishop  —  he  of 
Rheims — Couchon's  own  metropolitan.  So  here,  you  see,  a 
lower  court  was  impudently  preparing  to  re-try  and  re-decide 
a  cause  which  had  already  been  decided  by  its  superior,  a 
court  of  higher  authority.  Imagine  it !  No,  the  case  could 
not  properly  be  tried  again.  Cauchon  could  not  properly  pre 
side  in  this  new  court,  for  more  than  one  reason  :  Rouen  was 
not  in  his  diocese ;  Joan  had  not  been  arrested  in  her  domi 
cile,  which  was  still  Domremy;  and  finally  this  proposed  judge 
was  the  prisoner's  outspoken  enemy,  and  therefore  he  was  in 
competent  to  try  her.  Yet  all  these  large  difficulties  were  got 
ten  rid  of.  The  territorial  Chapter  of  Rouen  finally  granted 
territorial  letters  to  Cauchon — though  only  after  a  struggle 
and  under  compulsion.  Force  was  also  applied  to  the  In 
quisitor,  and  he  was  obliged  to  submit. 

So,  then,  the  little  English  King,  by  his  representative,  for 
mally  delivered  Joan  into  the  hands  of  the  court,  but  with 
this  reservation:  if  the  court  failed  to  condemn  her,  he  was  to 
have  her  back  again  ! 

Ah,  dear,  what  chance  was  there  for  that  forsaken  and 
friendless  child?  Friendless  indeed  —  it  is  the  right  word. 
For  she  was  in  a  black  dungeon,  with  half  a  dozen  brutal  com 
mon  soldiers  keeping  guard  night  and  day  in  the  room  where 
her  cage  was  —  for  she  was  in  a  cage;  an  iron  cage,  and 
chained  to  her  bed  by  neck  and  hands  and  feet.  Never  a 
person  near  her  whom  she  had  ever  seen  before ;  never  a 
woman  at  all.  Yes,  this  was  indeed  friendlessness. 

Now  it  was  a  vassal  of  Jean  de  Luxembourg  who  captured 
Joan  at  Compiegne,  and  it  was  Jean  who  sold  her  to  the  Duke 


33° 

of  Burgundy.  Yet  this  very  De  Luxembourg  was  shameless 
enough  to  go  and  show  his  face  to  Joan  in  her  cage.  He 
came  with  two  English  earls,  Warwick  and  Stafford.  He  was 
a  poor  reptile.  He  told  her  he  would  get  her  set  free  if  she 
would  promise  not  to  fight  the  English  any  more.  She  had 
been  in  that  cage  a  long  time  now,  but  not  long  enough  to 
break  her  spirit.  She  retorted  scornfully — 

"  Name  of  God,  you  but  mock  me.  I  know  that  you  have 
neither  the  power  nor  the  will  to  do  it." 

He  insisted.  Then  the  pride  and  dignity  of  the  soldier  rose 
in  Joan,  and  she  lifted  her  chained  hands  and  let  them  fall 
with  a  clash,  saying — 

"  See  these  !  They  know  more  than  you,  and  can  prophesy 
better.  I  know  that  the  English  are  going  to  kill  me,  for  they 
think  that  when  I  am  dead  they  can  get  the  Kingdom  of 
France.  It  is  not  so.  Though  there  were  a  hundred  thou 
sand  of  them  they  would  never  get  it." 

This  defiance  infuriated  Stafford,  and  he — now  think  of  it 
— he  a  free,  strong  man,  she  a  chained  and  helpless  girl — he 
drew  his  dagger  and  flung  himself  at  her  to  stab  her.  But 
Warwick  seized  him  and  held  him  back.  Warwick  was  wise. 
Take  her  life  in  that  way  ?  Send  her  to  Heaven  stainless  and 
undisgraced  ?  It  would  make  her  the  idol  of  France,  and  the 
whole  nation  would  rise  and  march  to  victory  and  emancipa 
tion  under  the  inspiration  of  her  spirit.  No,  she  must  be  saved 
for  another  fate  than  that. 

Well,  the  time  was  approaching  for  the  Great  Trial.  For 
more  than  two  months  Cauchon  had  been  raking  and  scrap 
ing  everywhere  for  any  odds  and  ends  of  evidence  or  suspi 
cion  or  conjecture  that  might  be  made  usable  against  Joan, 
and  carefully  suppressing  all  evidence  that  came  to  hand  in 
her  favor.  He  had  limitless  ways  and  means  and  powers  at 
his  disposal  for  preparing  and  strengthening  the  case  for  the 
prosecution,  and  he  used  them  all. 

But  Joan  had  no  one  to  prepare  her  case  for  her,  and  she 
was  shut  up  in  those  stone  walls  and  had  no  friend  to  appeal 
to  for  help.  And  as  for  witnesses,  she  could  not  call  a  sin- 


331 

gle  one  in  her  defence ;  they  were  all  far  away,  under  the 
French  flag,  and  this  was  an  English  court ;  they  would  have 
been  seized  and  hanged  if  they  had  shown  their  faces  at  the 
gates  of  Rouen.  No,  the  prisoner  must  be  the  sole  witness — 
witness  for  the  prosecution,  witness  for  the  defence  ;  and  with 
a  verdict  of  death  resolved  upon  before  the  doors  were  opened 
for  the  court's  first  sitting. 

When  she  learned  that  the  court  was  made  up  of  ecclesias 
tics  in  the  interest  of  the  English,  she  begged  that  in  fairness 
an  equal  number  of  priests  of  the  French  party  should  be 
added  to  these.  Cauchon  scoffed  at  her  message,  and  would 
not  even  deign  to  answer  it. 

By  the  law  of  the  Church — she  being  a  minor  under  twen 
ty-one — it  was  her  right  to  have  counsel  to  conduct  her  case, 
advise  her  how  to  answer  when  questioned,  and  protect  her 
from  falling  into  traps  set  by  cunning  devices  of  the  prosecu 
tion.  She  probably  did  not  know  that  this  was  her  right,  and 
that  she  could  demand  it  and  require  it,  for  there  was  none 
to  tell  her  that;  but  she  begged  for  this  help  at  any  rate. 
Cauchon  refused  it.  She  urged  and  implored,  pleading  her 
youth  and  her  ignorance  of  the  complexities  and  intricacies 
of  the  law  and  of  legal  procedure.  Cauchon  refused  again, 
and  said  she  must  get  along  with  her  case  as  best  she  might 
by  herself.  Ah,  his  heart  was  a  stone. 

Cauchon  prepared  the  proces  verbal.  I  will  simplify  that 
by  calling  it  the  Bill  of  Particulars.  It  was  a  detailed  list  of 
the  charges  against  her,  and  formed  the  basis  of  the  trial. 
Charges  ?  It  was  a  list  of  suspicions  and  public  rumors — 
those  were  the  words  used.  It  was  merely  charged  that  she 
was  suspected  of  having  been  guilty  of  heresies,  witchcraft, 
and  other  such  offences  against  religion. 

Now  by  law  of  the  Church,  a  trial  of  that  sort  could  not 
be  begun  until  a  searching  inquiry  had  been  made  into  the 
history  and  character  of  the  accused .  and  it  was  essential  that 
the  result  of  this  inquiry  be  added  to  the  proces  verbal  and 
form  a  part  of  it.  You  remember  that  that  was  the  first 
thing  they  did  before  the  trial  at  Poitiers.  They  did  it  again, 


332 

now.  An  ecclesiastic  was  sent  to  Domremy.  There  and  all 
about  the  neighborhood  he  made  an  exhaustive  search  into 
Joan's  history  and  character,  and  came  back  with  his  verdict. 
It  was  very  clear.  The  searcher  reported  that  he  found 
Joan's  character  to  be  in  every  way  what  he  "  would  like  his 
own  sister's  character  to  be."  Just  about  the  same  report 
that  was  brought  back  to  Poitiers,  you  see.  Joan's  was  a 
character  which  could  endure  the  minutest  examination. 

This  verdict  was  a  strong  point  for  Joan,  you  will  say. 
Yes,  it  would  have  been  if  it  could  have  seen  the  light ;  but 
Cauchon  was  awake,  and  it  disappeared  from  the  proces  verbal 
before  the  trial.  People  were  prudent  enough  not  to  inquire 
what  became  of  it. 

One  would  imagine  that  Cauchon  was  ready  to  begin  the 
trial  by  this  time.  But  no,  he  devised  one  more  scheme  for 
poor  Joan's  destruction,  and  it  promised  to  be  a  deadly  one. 

One  of  the  great  personages  picked  out  and  sent  down  by 
the  University  of  Paris  was  an  ecclesiastic  named  Nicolas 
Loyseleur.  He  was  tall,  handsome,  grave,  of  smooth  soft 
speech  and  courteous  and  winning  manners.  There  was  no 
seeming  of  treachery  or  hypocrisy  about  him,  yet  he  was  full 
of  both.  He  was  admitted  to  Joan's  prison  by  night,  dis 
guised  as  a  cobbler ;  he  pretended  to  be  from  her  own  coun 
try;  he  professed  to  be  secretly  a  patriot;  he  revealed  the 
fact  that  he  was  a  priest.  She  was  filled  with  gladness  to 
see  one  from  the  hills  and  plains  that  were  so  dear  to  her; 
happier  still  to  look  upon  a  priest  and  disburden  her  heart 
in  confession,  for  the  offices  of  the  Church  were  the  bread  of 
life,  the  breath  of  her  nostrils  to  her,  and  she  had  been  long 
forced  to  pine  for  them  in  vain.  She  opened  her  whole  in 
nocent  heart  to  this  creature,  and  in  return  he  gave  her  ad 
vice  concerning  her  trial  which  could  have  destroyed  her  if 
her  deep  native  wisdom  had  not  protected  her  against  fol 
lowing  it. 

You  will  ask,  what  value  could  this  scheme  have,  since  the 
secrets  of  the  confessional  are  sacred  and  cannot  be  revealed  ? 
True  —  but  suppose  another  person  should  overhear  them  ? 


333 

That  person  is  not  bound  to  keep  the  secret.  Well,  that  is 
what  happened.  Cauchon  had  previously  caused  a  hole  to 
be  bored  through  the  wall ;  and  he  stood  with  his  ear  to  that 
hole  and  heard  all.  It  is  pitiful  to  think  of  these  things. 
One  wonders  how  they  could  treat  that  poor  child  so.  She 
had  not  done  them  any  harm. 


CHAPTER  IV 

ON  Tuesday  the  2oth  of  February,  whilst  I  sat  at  my  mas 
ter's  work  in  the  evening,  he  came  in,  looking  sad,  and  said 
it  had  been  decided  to  begin  the  trial  at  eight  o'clock  the 
next  morning,  and  I  must  get  ready  to  assist  him. 

Of  course  I  had  been  expecting  such  news  every  day  for 
many  days ;  but  no  matter,  the  shock  of  it  almost  took  my 
breath  away  and  set  me  trembling  like  a  leaf.  I  suppose 
that  without  knowing  it  I  had  been  half  imagining  that  at  the 
last  moment  something  would  happen,  something  that  would 
stop  this  fatal  trial :  maybe  that  La  Hire  would  burst  in  at 
the  gates  with  his  hellions  at  his  back ;  maybe  that  God 
would  have  pity  and  stretch  forth  His  mighty  hand.  But 
now — now  there  was  no  hope. 

The  trial  was  to  begin  in  the  chapel  of  the  fortress  and 
would  be  public.  So  I  went  sorrowing  away  and  told  Noel, 
so  that  he  might  be  there  early  and  secure  a  place.  It 
would  give  him  a  chance  to  look  again  upon  the  face  which 
we  so  revered  and  which  was  so  precious  to  us.  All  the 
way,  both  going  and  coming,  I  ploughed  through  chattering 
and  rejoicing  multitudes  of  English  soldiery  and  English- 
hearted  French  citizens.  There  was  no  talk  but  of  the  com 
ing  event.  Many  times  I  heard  the  remark,  accompanied  by 
a  pitiless  laugh— 

"  The  fat  Bishop  has  got  things  as  he  wants  them  at  last,  and 
says  he  will  lead  the  vile  witch  a  merry  dance  and  a  short  one/' 

But  here  and  there  I  glimpsed  compassion  and  distress  in 
a  face,  and  it  was  not  always  a  French  one.  English  soldiers 
feared  Joan,  but  they  admired  her  for  her  great  deeds  and  her 
unconquerable  spirit. 


V. 


335 

In  the  morning  Manchon  and  I  went  early,  yet  as  we  ap 
proached  the  vast  fortress  we  found  crowds  of  men  already 
there  and  still  others  gathering.  The  chapel  was  already  full 
and  the  way  barred  against  further  admissions  of  unofficial 
persons.  We  took  our  appointed  places.  Throned  on  high 
sat  the  president,  Cauchon,  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  in  his  grand 
robes,  and  before  him  in  rows  sat  his  robed  court — fifty  dis 
tinguished  ecclesiastics,  men  of  high  degree  in  the  Church,  of 
clear-cut  intellectual  faces,  men  of  deep  learning,  veteran 
adepts  in  strategy  and  casuistry,  practised  setters  of  traps  for 
ignorant  minds  and  unwary  feet.  When  I  looked  around 
upon  this  army  of  masters  of  legal  fence,  gathered  here  to 
find  just  one  verdict  and  no  other,  and  remembered  that  Joan 
must  fight  for  her  good  name  and  her  life  single-handed 
against  them,  I  asked  myself  what  chance  an  ignorant  poor 
country  girt  of  nineteen  could  have  in  such  an  unequal  conflict  • 
and  my  heart  sank  down  low,  very  low.  When  I  looked  again 
at  that  obese  president,  puffing  and  wheezing  there,  his  great 
belly  distending  and  receding  with  each  breath,  and  noted  his 
three  chins,  fold  above  fold,  and  his  knobby  and  knotty  face, 
and  his  purple  and  splotchy  complexion,  and  his  repulsive 
cauliflower  nose,  and  his  cold  and  malignant  eyes — a  brute, 
every  detail  of  him — my  heart  sank  lower  still.  And  when  I 
noted  that  all  were  afraid  of  this  man,  and  shrank  and  fidg 
eted  in  their  seats  when  his  eye  smote  theirs,  my  last  poor 
ray  of  hope  dissolved  away  and  wholly  disappeared. 

There  was  one  unoccupied  seat  in  this  place,  and  only  one. 
It  was  over  against  the  wall,  in  view  of  every  one.  It  was  a  little 
wooden  bench  without  a  back,  and  it  stood  apart  and  solitary 
on  a  sort  of  dais.  Tall  men-at-arms  in  morion,  breast-plate, 
and  steel  gauntlets  stood  as  stiff  as  their  own  halberds  on  each 
side  of  this  dais,  but  no  other  creature  was  near  by  it.  A  pa 
thetic  little  bench  to  me  it  was,  for  I  knew  whom  it  was  for; 
and  the  sight  of  it  carried  my  mind  back  to  the  great  court  at 
Poitiers,  where  Joan  sat  upon  one  like  it  and  calmly  fought 
her  cunning  fight  with  the  astonished  doctors  of  the  Church 
and  Parliament,  and  rose  from  it  victorious  and  applauded 


336 


by  all,  and  went  forth  to  fill  the  world  with  the  glory  of  her 
name. 

What  a  dainty  little  figure  she  was,  and  how  gentle  and  in 
nocent,  how  winning  and  beautiful  in  the  fresh  bloom  of  her 
seventeen  years  !  Those  were  grand  days.  And  so  recent — 
for  she  was  but  just  nineteen  now — and  how  much  she  had 
seen  since,  and  what  wonders  she  had  accomplished  ! 

But  now — oh,  all  was  changed,  now.  She  had  been  lan 
guishing  in  dungeons,  away  from  light  and  air  and  the  cheer 
of  friendly  faces,  for  nearly  three-quarters  of  a  year — she,  born 
child  of  the  sun,  natural  comrade  of  the  birds  and  of  all  happy 
free  creatures.  She  would  be  weary,  now,  and  worn  with  this 
long  captivity,  her  forces  impaired ;  despondent,  perhaps,  as 
knowing  there  was  no  hope.  Yes,  all  was  changed. 

All  this  time  there  had  been  a  muffled  hum  of  conversation, 
and  rustling  of  robes  and  scraping  of  feet  on  the  floor,  a  com 
bination  of  dull  noises  which  filled  all  the  place.  Suddenly — 

"  Produce  the  accused  !'; 

It  made  me  catch  my  breath.  My  heart  began  to  thump 
like  a  hammer.  But  there  was  silence,  now — silence  absolute. 
All  those  noises  ceased,  and  it  was  as  if  they  had  never  been. 
Not  a  sound ;  the  stillness  grew  oppressive ;  it  was  like  a 
weight  upon  one.  All  faces  were  turned  towards  the  door ; 
and  one  could  properly  expect  that,  for  most  of  the  people 
there  suddenly  realized,  no  doubt,  that  they  were  about  to  see, 
in  actual  flesh  and  blood,  what  had  been  to  them  before  only 
an  embodied  prodigy,  a  word,  a  phrase,  a  world -girdling 
Name. 

The  stillness  continued.  Then,  far  down  the  stone-paved 
corridors,  one  heard  a  vague  slow  sound  approaching :  dank 

clink  .  .  clank — Joan  of  Arc,  Deliverer  of  France,  in 

chains  ! 

My  head  swam ;  all  things  whirled  and  spun  about  me. 
Ah,  /  was  realizing,  too. 


CHAPTER  V 

I  GIVE  you  my  honor,  now,  that  I  am  not  going  to  distort 
or  discolor  the  facts  of  this  miserable  trial.  No,  I  will  give 
them  to  you  honestly,  detail  by  detail,  just  as  Manchon  and  I 
set  them  down  daily  in  the  official  record  of  the  court,  and 
just  as  one  may  read  them  in  the  printed  histories.  There 
will  be  only  this  difference  :  that  in  talking  familiarly  with 
you  I  shall  use  my  right  to  comment  upon  the  proceedings 
and  explain  them  as  I  go  along,  so  that  you  can  understand 
them  better ;  also,  I  shall  throw  in  trifles  which  came  under 
our  eyes  and  have  a  certain  interest  for  you  and  me,  but  were 
not  important  enough  to  go  into  the  official  record.* 

To  take  up  my  story,  now,  where  I  left  off.  We  heard  the 
clanking  of  Joan's  chains  down  the  corridors  ;  she  was  ap 
proaching. 

Presently  she  appeared  ;  a  thrill  swept  the  house,  and  one 
heard  deep  breaths  drawn.  Two  guardsmen  followed  her  at 
a  short  distance  to  the  rear.  Her  head  was  bowed  a  little, 
and  she  moved  slowly,  she  being  weak  and  her  irons  heavy. 
She  had  on  men's  attire — all  black  •,  a  soft  woollen  stuff,  in 
tensely  black,  funereally  black,  not  a  speck  of  relieving  color 
in  it  from  her  throat  to  the  floor.  A  wide  collar  of  this  same 
black  stuff  lay  in  radiating  folds  upon  her  shoulders  and  breast ; 
the  sleeves  of  her  doublet  were  full,  down  to  the  elbows,  and 
tight  thence  to  her  manacled  wrists ;  below  the  doublet,  tight 
black  hose  down  to  the  chains  on  her  ankles. 

*  He  kept  his  word.  His  account  of  the  Great  Trial  will  be  found  to 
be  in  strict  and  detailed  accordance  with  the  sworn  facts  of  history. — TRANS 
LATOR. 


338 

Half-way  to  her  bench  she  stopped,  just  where  a  wide  shaft 
of  light  fell  slanting  from  a  window,  and  slowly  lifted  her  face. 
Another  thrill ! — it  was  totally  colorless,  white  as  snow  ;  a  face 
of  gleaming  snow  set  in  vivid  contrast  upon  that  slender 
statue  of  sombre  unmitigated  black.  It  was  smooth  and  pure 
and  girlish,  beautiful  beyond  belief,  infinitely  sad  and  sweet. 
But,  dear,  dear !  when  the  challenge  of  those  untamed  eyes 
fell  upon  that  judge,  and  the  droop  vanished  from  her  form 
and  it  straightened  up  soldierly  and  noble,  my  heart  leaped 
for  joy;  and  I  said,  all  is  well,  all  is  well — they  have  not 
broken  her,  they  have  not  conquered  her,  she  is  Joan  of  Arc 
still  !  Yes,  it  was  plain  to  me,  now,  that  there  was  one  spirit 
there  which  this  dreaded  judge  could  not  quell  nor  make  afraid. 

She  moved  to  her  place  and  mounted  the  dais  and  seated 
herself  upon  her  bench,  gathering  her  chains  into  her  lap  and 
nestling  her  little  white  hands  there.  Then  she  waited  in 
tranquil  dignity,  the  only  person  there  who  seemed  unmoved 
and  unexcited.  A  bronzed  and  brawny  English  soldier,  stand 
ing  at  martial  ease  in  the  front  rank  of  the  citizen  spectators, 
did  now  most  gallantly  and  respectfully  put  up  his  great  hand 
and  give  her  the  military  salute  ;  and  she,  smiling  friendly, 
put  up  hers  and  returned  it ;  whereat  there  was  a  sympathetic 
little  break  of  applause,  which  the  judge  sternly  silenced. 

Now  the  memorable  inquisition  called  in  history  the  Great 
Trial  began.  Fifty  experts  against  a  novice,  and  no  one  to 
help  the  novice  ! 

The  judge  summarized  the  circumstances  of  the  case  and 
the  public  reports  and  suspicions  upon  which  it  was  based ; 
then  he  required  Joan  to  kneel  and  make  oath  that  she  would 
answer  with  exact  truthfulness  to  all  questions  asked  her. 

Joan's  mind  was  not  asleep.  It  suspected  that  dangerous 
possibilities  might  lie  hidden  under  this  apparently  fair  and 
reasonable  demand.  She  answered  with  the  simplicity  which 
so  often  spoiled  the  enemy's  best-laid  plans  in  the  trial  at 
Poitiers,  and  said, 

"  No  ;  for  I  do  not  know  what  you  are  going  to  ask  me; 
you  might  ask  of  me  things  which  I  would  not  tell  you." 


339 

This  incensed  the  Court,  and  brought  out  a  brisk  flurry 
of  angry  exclamations.  Joan  was  not  disturbed.  Cauchon 
raised  his  voice  and  began  to  speak  in  the  midst  of  this  noise, 
but  he  was  so  angry  that  he  could  hardly  get  his  words  out. 
He  said — 

"  With  the  divine  assistance  of  our  Lord  we  require  you 
to  expedite  these  proceedings  for  the  welfare  of  your  con 
science.  Swear,  with  your  hands  upon  the  Gospels,  that  you 
will  answer  true  to  the  questions  which  shall  be  asked  you !" 
and  he  brought  down  his  fat  hand  with  a  crash  upon  his 
official  table. 

Joan  said,  with  composure — 

"As  concerning  my  father  and  mother,  and  the  faith,  and 
what  things  I  have  done  since  my  coming  into  France,  I  will 
gladly  answer ;  but  as  regards  the  revelations  which  I  have 
received  from  God,  my  Voices  have  forbidden  me  to  confide 
them  to  any  save  my  King — 

Here  there  was  another  angry  outburst  of  threats  and  ex 
pletives,  and  much  movement  and  confusion  5  so  she  had  to 
stop,  and  wait  for  the  noise  to  subside  ;  then  her  waxen  face 
flushed  a  little  and  she  straightened  up  and  fixed  her  eye  on 
the  judge,  and  finished  her  sentence  in  a  voice  that  had  the 
old  ring  in  it — 

"  —  and  I  will  never  reveal  these  things  though  you  cut  my 
head  off  I1' 

Well,  maybe  you  know  what  a  deliberative  body  of  French 
men  is  like.  The  judge  and  half  the  court  were  on  their  feet 
in  a  moment,  and  all  shaking  their  fists  at  the  prisoner  and 
all  storming  and  vituperating  at  once,  so  that  you  could  hard 
ly  hear  yourself  think.  They  kept  this  up  several  minutes ; 
and  because  Joan  sat  untroubled  and  indifferent,  they  grew 
madder  and  noisier  all  the  time.  Once  she  said,  with  a  fleet 
ing  trace  of  the  old-time  mischief  in  her  eye  and  manner — 

"  Prithee  speak  one  at  a  time,  fair  lords,  then  I  will  answer 
all  of  you," 

At  the  end  of  three  whole  hours  of  furious  debating  over 
the  oath,  the  situation  had  not  changed  a  jot.  The  Bishop 


340 

was  still  requiring  an  unmodified  oath,  Joan  was  refusing  for 
the  twentieth  time  to  take  any  except  the  one  which  she  had 
herself  proposed.  There  was  a  physical  change  apparent, 
but  it  was  confined  to  court  and  judge  ;  they  were  hoarse, 
droopy,  exhausted  by  their  long  frenzy,  and  had  a  sort  of 
haggard  look  in  their  faces,  poor  men,  whereas  Joan  was  still 
placid  and  reposeful  and  did  not  seem  noticeably  tired. 

The  noise  quieted  down  ;  there  was  a  waiting  pause  of  some 
moments'  duration.  Then  the  judge  surrendered  to  the  pris 
oner,  and  with  bitterness  in  his  voice  told  her  to  take  the  oath 
after  her  own  fashion.  Joan  sunk  at  once  to  her  knees-,  and 
as  she  laid  her  hands  upon  the  Gospels,  that  big  English  sol 
dier  set  free  his  mind  : 

"By  God  if  she  were  but  English,  she  were  not  in  this 
place  another  half  a  second  !" 

It  was  the  soldier  in  him  responding  to  the  soldier  in  her. 
But  what  a  stinging  rebuke  it  was,  what  an  arraignment  of 
French  character  and  French  royalty !  Would  that  he  could 
have  uttered  just  that  one  phrase  in  the  hearing  of  Orleans  !  I 
know  that  that  grateful  city,  that  adoring  city,  would  have 
risen,  to  the  last  man  and  the  last  woman,  and  marched  upon 
Rouen.  Some  speeches — speeches  that  shame  a  man  and 
humble  him — burn  themselves  into  the  memory  and  remain 
there.  That  one  is  burnt  into  mine. 

After  Joan  had  made  oath,  Cauchon  asked  her  her  name, 
and  where  she  was  born,  and  some  questions  about  her  fam 
ily;  also  what  her  age  was.  She  answered  these.  Then  he 
asked  her  how  much  education  she  had. 

"  I  have  learned  from  my  mother  the  Pater  Noster,  the 
Ave  Maria,  and  the  Belief.  All  that  I  know  was  taught  me 
by  my  mother." 

Questions  of  this  unessential  sort  dribbled  on  for  a  consid 
erable  time.  Everybody  was  tired  out  by  now,  except  Joan. 
The  tribunal  prepared  to  rise.  At  this  point  Cauchon  forbade 
Joan  to  try  to  escape  from  prison,  upon  pain  of  being  held 
guilty  of  the  crime  of  heresy — singular  logic  !  She  answered 
simply— 


"  I  am  not  bound  by  this  prohibition.  If  I  could  escape  I 
would  not  reproach  myself,  for  I  have  given  no  promise,  and 
I  shall  not." 

Then  she  complained  of  the  burden  of  her  chains,  and 
asked  that  they  might  be  removed,  for  she  was  strongly 
guarded  in  that  dungeon  and  there  was  no  need  of  them.  But 
the  Bishop  refused,  and  reminded  her  that  she-  had  broken 
out  of  prison  twice  before.  Joan  of  Arc  was  too  proud  to  in 
sist.  She  only  said,  as  she  rose  to  go  with  the  guard — 

"  It  is  true  I  have  wanted  to  escape,  and  I  do  want  to  es 
cape."  Then  she  added,  in  a  way  that  would  touch  the  pity 
of  anybody,  I  think,  "  It  is  the  right  of  every  prisoner." 

And  so  she  went  from  the  place  in  the  midst  of  an  impress 
ive  stillness,  which  made  the  sharper  and  more  distressful  to 
me  the  clank  of  those  pathetic  chains. 

What  presence  of  mind  she  had  !  One  could  never  surprise 
her  out  of  it.  She  saw  Noel  and  me  there  when  she  first  took 
her  seat  on  her  bench ,  and  we  flushed  to  the  forehead  with 
excitement  and  emotion,  but  her  face  showed  nothing,  be 
trayed  nothing.  Her  eyes  sought  us  fifty  times  that  day,  but 
they  passed  on  and  there  was  never  any  ray  of  recognition  in 
them.  Another  would  have  started  upon  seeing  us,  and  then 
— why  then  there  could  have  been  trouble  for  us,  of  course. 

We  walked  slowly  home  together,  each  busy  with  his  own 
grief  and  saying  not  a  word. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THAT  night  Manchon  told  me  that  all  through  the  day's 
proceedings  Cauchon  had  had  some  clerks  concealed  in  the 
embrasure  of  a  window  who  were  to  make  a  special  report 
garbling  Jean's  answers  and  twisting  them  from  their  right 
meaning.  lAh,  that  was  surely  the  cruelest  man  and  the 
most  shameless  that  has  lived  in  this  world.  But  his  scheme 
failed.  Those  clerks  had  human  hearts  in  them,  and  their 
base  work  revolted  them,  and  they  turned  to  and  boldly  made 
a  straight  report,  whereupon  Cauchon  cursed  them  and  ordered 
them  out  of  his  presence  with  a  threat  of  drowning,  which  was 
his  favorite  and  most  frequent  menace.  The  matter  had  got 
ten  abroad  and  was  making  great  and  unpleasant  talk,  and 
Cauchon  would  not  try  to  repeat  this  shabby  game  right  away. 
It  comforted  me  to  hear  that. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  citadel  next  morning,  we  found 
that  a  change  had  been  made.  The  chapel  had  been  found 
too  small.  The  court  had  now  removed  to  a  noble  chamber 
situated  at  the  end  of  the  great  hall  of  the  castle.  The  num 
ber  of  judges  was  increased  to  sixty-two — one  ignorant  girl 
against  such  odds,  and  none  to  help  her. 

The  prisoner  was  brought  in.  She  was  as  white  as  ever, 
but  she  was  looking  no  whit  worse  than  she  looked  when 
she  had  first  appeared  the  day  before.  Isn't  it  a  strange 
thing?  Yesterday  she  had  sat  five  hours  on  that  backless 
bench  with  her  chains  in  her  lap,  baited,  badgered,  persecuted 
by  that  unholy  crew,  without  even  the  refreshment  of  a  cup 
of  water— for  she  was  never  offered  anything,  and  if  I  have 
made  you  know  her  by  this  .time  you  will  know  without  my 
telling  you  that  she  was  not  a  person  likely  to  ask  favors  of 


343 

those  people.  And  she  had  spent  the  night  caged  in  her 
wintry  dungeon  with  her  chains  upon  her ;  yet  here  she  was, 
as  I  say,  collected,  unworn,  and  ready  for  the  conflict ;  yes, 
and  the  only  person  there  who  showed  no  signs  of  the  wear 
and  worry  of  yesterday.  And  her  eyes — ah,  you  should  have 
seen  them  and  broken  your  hearts.  Have  you  seen  that 
veiled  deep  glow,  that  pathetic  hurt  dignity,  that  unsubdued 
and  unsubduable  spirit  that  burns  and  smoulders  in  the  eye 
of  a  caged  eagle  and  makes  you  feel  mean  and  shabby  under 
the  burden  of  its  mute  reproach  ?  Her  eyes  were  like  that. 
How  capable  they  were,  and  how  wonderful !  Yes,  at  all 
times  and  in  all  circumstances  they  could  express  as  by  print 
every  shade  of  the  wide  range  of  her  moods.  In  them  were 
hidden  floods  of  gay  sunshine,  the  softest  and  peacefulest  twi 
lights,  and  devastating  storms  and  lightnings.  Not  in  this 
world  have  there  been  others  that  were  comparable  to  them. 
Such  is  my  opinion,  and  none  that  had  the  privilege  to  see 
them  would  say  otherwise  than  this  which  I  have  said  con 
cerning  them. 

The  seance  began.  And  how  did  it  begin,  should  you 
think  ?  Exactly  as  it  began  before — with  that  same  tedious 
thing  which  had  been  settled  once,  after  so  much  wrangling. 
The  Bishop  opened  thus  : 

"You  are  required,  new,  to  take  the  oath  pure  and  simple, 
to  answer  truly  all  questions  asked  you." 

Joan  replied  placidly — 

"  I  have  made  oath  yesterday,  my  lord  ;  let  that  suffice." 

The  Bishop  insisted  and  insisted,  with  rising  temper ;  Joan 
but  shook  her  head  and  remained  silent.  At  last  she 
said — 

"  I  made  oath  yesterday  ;  it  is  sufficient."  Then  she  sighed 
and  said,  "  Of  a  truth,  you  do  burden  me  too  much." 

The  Bishop  still  insisted,  still  commanded,  but  he  could  not 
move  her.  At  last  he  gave  it  up  and  turned  her  over  for  the 
day's  inquest  to  an  old  hand  at  tricks  and  traps  and  decep 
tive  plausibilities — Beaupere,  a  doctor  of  theology.  Now 
notice  the  form  of  this  sleek  strategist's  first  remark — flung 


344 

out  in  an  easy,  off-hand  way  that  would  have  thrown  any  un- 
watchful  person  off  his  guard — 

''Now,  Joan,  the  matter  is  very  simple;  just  speak  up  and 
frankly  and  truly  answer  the  questions  which  I  am  going  to 
ask  you,  as  you  have  sworn  to  do." 

It  was  a  failure.  Joan  was  not  asleep.  She  saw  the  arti 
fice.  She  said — 

"  No.  You  could  ask  me  things  which  I  could  not  tell 
you  —  and  would  not."  Then,  reflecting  upon  how  profane 
and  out  of  character  it  was  for  these  ministers  of  God  to  be 
prying  into  matters  which  had  proceeded  from  His  hands 
under  the  awful  seal  of  His  secrecy,  she  added,  with  a  warn 
ing  note  in  her  tone,  "  If  you  were  well  informed  concerning 
me  you  would  wish  me  out  of  your  hands.  I  have  done  noth 
ing  but  by  revelation." 

Beaupere  changed  his  attack,  and  began  an  approach  from 
another  quarter.  He  would  slip  upon  her,  you  see,  under 
cover  of  innocent  and  unimportant  questions. 

"  Did  you  learn  any  trade  at  home  ?" 

"  Yes,  to  sew  and  to  spin."  Then  the  invincible  soldier, 
victor  of  Patay,  conqueror  of  the  lion  Talbot,  deliverer  of  Or 
leans,  restorer  of  a  king's  crown,  commander -in -chief  of  a 
nation's  armies,  straightened  herself  proudly  up,  gave  her  head 
a  little  toss,  and  said  with  naive  complacency,  "And  when 
it  comes  to  that,  I  am  not  afraid  to  be  matched  against  any 
woman  in  Rouen  !" 

The  crowd  of  spectators  broke  out  with  applause — which 
pleased  Joan  —  and  there  was  many  a  friendly  and  petting 
smile  to  be  seen.  But  Cauchon  stormed  at  the  people  and 
warned  them  to  keep  still  and  mind  their  manners. 

Beaupere  asked  other  questions.     Then — 

"  Had  you  other  occupations  at  home  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  helped  my  mother  in  the  household  work  and 
went  to  the  pastures  with  the  sheep  and  the  cattle." 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little,  but  one  could  hardly  notice  it. 
As  for  me,  it  brought  those  old  enchanted  days  flooding  back 
to  me,  and  I  could  not  see  what  I  was  writing:  for  a  little  while. 


345 


Beaupere  cautiously  edged  along  up  with  other  questions 
toward  the  forbidden  ground,  and  finally  repeated  a  question 
which  she  had  refused  to  answer  a  little  while  back — as  to 
whether  she  had  received  the  Eucharist  in  those  days  at  other 
festivals  than  that  of  Easter.  Joan  merely  said — 

" Passez  outre"  Or,  as  one  might  say,  "  Pass  on  to  matters 
which  you  are  privileged  to  pry  into." 

I  heard  a  member  of  the  court  say  to  a  neighbor — 

"  As  a  rule,  witnesses  are  but  dull  creatures,  and  an  easy 
prey  —  yes,  and  easily  embarrassed,  easily  frightened  —  but 
truly  one  can  neither  scare  this  child  nor  find  her  dozing." 

Presently  the  house  pricked  up  its  ears  and  began  to  listen 
eagerly,  for  Beaupere  began  to  touch  upon  Joan's  Voices,  a 
matter  of  consuming  interest  and  curiosity  to  everybody. 
His  purpose  was,  to  trick  her  into  heedless  sayings  that  could 
indicate  that  the  Voices  had  sometimes  given  her  evil  advice 
— hence  that  they  had  come  from  Satan,  you  see.  To  have 
dealings  with  the  devil  —  well,  that  would  send  her  to  the 
stake  in  brief  order,  and  that  was  the  deliberate  end  and  aim 
of  this  trial. 

"When  did  you  first  hear  these  Voices  ?" 

"  I  was  thirteen  when  I  first  heard  a  Voice  coming  from 
God  to  help  me  to  live  well.  I  was  frightened.  It  came  at 
mid-clay,  in  my  father's  garden  in  the  summer." 

"  Had  you  been  fasting  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  The  day  before  ?" 

"No." 

"  From  what  direction  did  it  come  ?" 

"  From  the  right — from  toward  the  church." 

"  Did  it  come  with  a  bright  light  ?" 

"  Oh,  indeed  yes.  It  was  brilliant.  When  I  came  into 
France  I  often  heard  the  Voices  very  loud." 

"  What  did  the  Voice  sound  like  ?" 

"  It  was  a  noble  Voice,  and  I  thought  it  was  sent  to  me 
from  God.  The  third  time  I  heard  it  I  recognized  it  as  being 
an  angel's." 


346 


"You  could  understand  it?" 

"  Quite  easily.     It  was  always  clear." 

"  What  advice  did  it  give  you  as  to  the  salvation  of  your 
soul  ?" 

"  It  told  me  to  live  rightly,  and  be  regular  in  attendance 
upon  the  services  of  the  Church.  And  it  told  me  that  1 
must  go  to  France." 

"In  what  species  of  form  did  the  Voice  appear?" 

Joan  looked  suspiciously  at  the  priest  a  moment,  then  said, 
tranquilly — 

"  As  to  that,  I  will  not  tell  you." 

"  Did  the  Voice  seek  you  often  ?" 

"Yes.  Twice  or  three  times  a  week,  saying,  'Leave  your 
village  and  go  to  France.'  " 

"  Did  your  father  know  about  your  departure  ?" 

"  No.  The  Voice  said,  '  Go  to  France ' ;  therefore  I  could 
not  abide  at  home  any  longer." 

"What  else  did  it  say?" 

"  That  I  should  raise  the  siege  of  Orleans." 

"  Was  that  all  ?" 

"  No,  I  was  to  go  to  Vaucouleurs,  and  Robert  de  Baudri- 
court  would  give  me  soldiers  to  go  with  me  to  France ;  and  I 
answered,  saying  that  I  was  a  poor  girl  who  did  not  know  how 
to  ride,  neither  how  to  fight." 

Then  she  told  how  she  was  baulked  and  interrupted  at 
Vaucouleurs,  but  finally  got  her  soldiers,  and  began  her 
march. 

"  How  were  you  dressed  ?" 

The  court  of  Poitiers  had  distinctly  decided  and  decreed 
that  as  God  had  appointed  her  to  do  a  man's  work,  it  was 
meet  and  no  scandal  to  religion  that  she  should  dress  as  a 
man  ;  but  no  matter,  this  court  was  ready  to  use  any  and  all 
weapons  against  Joan,  even  broken  and  discredited  ones,  and 
much  was  going  to  be  made  of  this  one  before  this  trial  should 
end. 

"  I  wore  a  man's  dress,  also  a  sword  which  Robert  de  Bau- 
dricourt  gave  me,  but  no  other  weapon." 


THE   PALADIN   TELLS   HOW   HE   WON   PATAY 


347 

"  Who  was  it  that  advised  you  to  wear  the  dress  of  a  man  ?" 

Joan  was  suspicious  again.     She  would  not  answer. 

The  question  was  repeated. 

She  refused  again. 

"Answer.     It  is  a  command  !" 

"  Passez  outre"  was  all  she  said. 

So  Beaupere  gave  up  the  matter  for  the  present. 

"  What  did  Baudricourt  say  to  you  when  you  left  ?" 

"  He  made  them  that  were  to  go  with  me  promise  to  take 
charge  of  me,  and  to  me  he  said,  '  Go,  and  let  happen  what 
may  !'  "  (AdTienne  que pourra  /) 

After  a  good  deal  of  questioning  upon  other  matters  she 
was  asked  again  about  her  attire.  She  said  it  was  necessary 
for  her  to  dress  as  a  man. 

"  Did  your  Voice  advise  it  ?'' 

Joan  merely  answered  placidly — 

"  I  believe  my  Voice  gave  me  good  advice." 

It  was  all  that  could  be  got  out  of  her,  so  the  questions 
wandered  to  other  matters,  and  finally  to  her  first  meeting 
with  the  King  at  Chinon.  She  said  she  chose  out  the  King, 
who  was  unknown  to  her,  by  the  revelation  of  her  Voices. 
All  that  happened  at  that  time  was  gone  over.  Finally — 

"  Do  you  still  hear  those  Voices  ?" 

"They  come  to  me  every  day." 

"  What  do  you  ask  of  them  ?" 

"  I  have  never  asked  of  them  any  recompense  but  the  sal 
vation  of  my  soul." 

"  Did  the  Voice  always  urge  you  to  follow  the  army  ?" 

He  is  creeping  upon  her  again.     She  answered— 

"It  required  me  to  remain  behind  at  St.  Denis.  I  would 
have  obeyed  if  I  had  been  free,  but  I  was  helpless  by  my 
wound,  and  the  knights  carried  me  away  by  force." 

"  When  were  you  wounded  ?" 

"  I  was  wounded  in  the  moat  before  Paris,  in  the  assault." 

The  next  question  reveals  what  Beaupere  had  been  leading 
up  to — 

"  Was  it  a  feast  day  ?" 


You  see?  The  suggestion  is  that  a  voice  coming  from  God 
would  hardly  advise  or  permit  the  violation,  by  war  and  blood 
shed,  of  a  sacred  day. 

Joan  was  troubled  a  moment,  then  she  answered  yes,  it  was 
a  feast  day. 

"  Now  then,  tell  me  this  :  did  you  hold  it  right  to  make  the 
attack  on  such  a  clay  ?" 

This  was  a  shot  which  might  make  the  first  breach  in  a  wall 
which  had  suffered  no  damage  thus  far.  There  was  immedi 
ate  silence  in  the  court  and  intense  expectancy  noticeable  all 
about.  But  Joan  disappointed  the  house.  She  merely  made 
a  slight  little  motion  with  her  hand,  as  when  one  brushes 
away  a  fly,  and  said  with  reposeful  indifference — 

"  Passez  outre:' 

Smiles  danced  for  a  moment  in  some  of  the  sternest  faces 
there,  and  several  even  laughed  outright.  The  trap  had  been 
long  and  laboriously  prepared;  it  fell,  and  was  empty. 

The  court  rose.  It  had  sat  for  hours,  and  was  cruelly 
fatigued.  Most  of  the  time  had  been  taken  up  with  apparent 
ly  idle  and  purposeless  inquiries  about  the  Chinon  events,  the 
exiled  Duke  of  Orleans,  Joan's  first  proclamation,  and  so  on, 
but  all  this  seemingly  random  stuff  had  really  been  sown  thick 
with  hidden  traps.  But  Joan  had  fortunately  escaped  them 
all,  some  by  the  protecting  luck  which  attends  upon  ignorance 
and  innocence,  some  by  happy  accident,  the  others  by  force 
of  her  best  and  surest  helper,  the  clear  vision  and  lightning 
intuitions  of  her  extraordinary  mind. 

Now  then,  this  daily  baiting  and  badgering  of  this  friend 
less  girl,  a  captive  in  chains,  was  to  continue  a  long,  long  time 
— dignified  sport,  a  kennel  of  mastiffs  and  blood-hounds  har 
assing  a  kitten  ! — and  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  upon  sworn  tes 
timony,  what  it  was  like  from  the  first  clay  to  the  last.  When 
poor  Joan  had  been  in  her  grave  a  quarter  of  a  century,  the 
Pope  called  together  that  great  court  which  was  to  re-examine 
her  history,  and  whose  just  verdict  cleared  her  illustrious 
name  from  every  spot  and  stain,  and  laid  upon  the  verdict 
and  conduct  of  our  Rouen  tribunal  the  blight  of  its  everlast- 


349 

ing  execrations.  Manchon  and  several  of  the  judges  who  had 
been  members  of  our  court  were  among  the  witnesses  who 
appeared  before  that  Tribunal  of  Rehabilitation.  Recalling 
these  miserable  proceedings  which  I  have  been  telling  you 
about,  Manchon  testified  thus  :— here  you  have  it,  all  in  fair 
print  in  the  official  history : 

When  Joan  spoke  of  her  apparitions  she  was  interrupted  at  almost  every 
word.  They  wearied  her  with  long  and  multiplied  interrogatories  upon 
all  sorts  of  things.  Almost  every  day  the  interrogatories  of  the  morning 
lasted  three  or  four  hours;  then  from  these  morning-interrogatories  they 
extracted  the  particularly  difficult  and  subtle  points,  and  these  served  as 
material  for  the  afternoon-interrogatories,  which  lasted  tivo  or  three  hours, 
Moment  by  moment  they  skipped  from  one  subject  to  another;  yet  in 
spite  of  this  she  ahvavs  responded  with  an  astonishing  wisdom  and  memory. 
She  often  corrected  the  judges,  saying,  "  But  I  have  already  answered  that 
once  before — ask  the  recorder,"  referring  them  to  me. 

And  here  is  the  testimony  of  one  of  Joan's  judges.  Re 
member,  these  witnesses  are  not  talking  about  two  or  three 
clays,  they  are  talking  about  a  tedious  \Q^ procession  of  days  : 

They  asked  her  profound  questions,  but  she  extricated  herself  quite 
well.  Sometimes  the  questioners  changed  suddenly  and  passed  to  another 
subject  to  see  if  she  would  not  contradict  herself.  They  burdened  her  with 
long  interrogatories  of  two  or  three  hours,  from  which  the  judges  themselves 
went  forth  fatigued.  From  the  snares  with  which  she  was  beset  the  ex- 
pertest  man  in  the  world  could  not  have  extricated  himself  but  with  diffi 
culty.  She  gave  her  responses  with  great  prudence  ;  indeed  to  such  a  de 
gree  that  during  three  weeks  I  believed  she  was  inspired. 

Ah,  had  she  a  mind  such  as  I  have  described  ?  You  see 
what  these  priests  say  under  oath — picked  men,  men  chosen 
for  their  places  in  that  terrible  court  on  account  of  their  learn 
ing,  their  experience,  their  keen  and  practised  intellects  and 
their  strong  bias  against  the  prisoner.  They  make  that  poor 
young  country  girl  out  the  match,  and  more  than  the  match, 
of  the  sixty-two  trained  adepts.  Isn't  it  so?  They  from 
the  University  of  Paris,  she  from  the  sheepfold  and  the  cow- 
stable  !  Ah  yes,  she  was  great,  she  was  wonderful.  It  took 
six  thousand  years  to  produce  her ;  her  like  will  not  be  seen 
in  the  earth  again  in  fifty  thousand.  Such  is  my  opinion. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  third  meeting  of  the  court  was  in  that  same  spacious 
chamber,  next  day,  24th  of  February. 

How  did  it  begin  work  ?  In  just  the  same  old  way. 
When  the  preparations  were  ended,  the  robed  sixty -two 
massed  in  their  chairs  and  the  guards  and  order-keepers  dis 
tributed  to  their  stations,  Cauchon  spoke  from  his  throne 
and  commanded  Joan  to  lay  her  hands  upon  the  Gospels  and 
swear  to  tell  the  truth  concerning  everything  asked  her ! 

Joan's  eyes  kindled,  and  she  rose ;  rose  and  stood,  fine  and 
noble,  and  faced  toward  the  Bishop  and  said — 

"Take  care  what  you  do,  my  Lord,  you  who  are  my  judge, 
for  you  take  a  terrible  responsibility  on  yourself  and  you 
presume  too  far." 

It  made  a  great  stir,  and  Cauchon  burst  out  upon  her  with 
an  awful  threat — the  threat  of  instant  condemnation  unless 
she  obeyed.  That  made  the  very  bones  in  my  body  turn 
cold,  and  I  saw  cheeks  about  me  blanch — for  it  meant  fire  and 
the  stake  !  But  Joan,  still  standing,  answered  him  back,  proud 
and  undismayed — 

"Not  all  the  clergy  in  Pa-ris  and  Rouen  could  condemn  me, 
lacking  the  right !" 

This  made  a  great  tumult,  and  part  of  it  was  applause  from 
the  spectators.  Joan  resumed  her  seat.  The  Bishop  still  in 
sisted.  Joan  said — 

"I  have  already  made  oath.     It  is  enough." 

The  Bishop  shouted — 

' '  In  refusing  to  swear,  you  place  yourself  under  suspi 
cion  r' 

"Let  be.     I  have  sworn  already.     It  is  enough." 


The  Bishop  continued  to  insist.  Joan  answered  that  "  she 
would  tell  what  she  knew — but  not  all  that  she  knew." 

The  Bishop  plagued  her  straight  along,  till  at  last  she  said, 
in  a  weary  tone — 

"  I  came  from  God  ;  I  have  nothing  more  to  do  here.  Re 
turn  me  to  God,  from  whom  I  came." 

It  was  piteous  to  hear;  it  was  the  same  as  saying,  "You 
only  want  my  life ;  take  it  and  let  me  be  at  peace." 

The  Bishop  stormed  out  again— 

"  Once  more  I  command  you  to — 

Joan  cut  in  with  a  nonchalant  "Passez  outre"  and  Cauchon 
retired  from  the  struggle ;  but  he  retired  with  some  credit 
this  time,  for  he  offered  a  compromise,  and  Joan,  always 
clear-headed,  saw  protection  for  herself  in  it  and  promptly 
and  willingly  accepted  it.  She  was  to  swear  to  tell  the  truth 
"  as  touching  the  matters  set  down  in  the  proces  verbal" 
They  could  not  sail  her  outside  of  definite  limits,  now ;  her 
course  was  over  a  charted  sea,  henceforth.  The  Bishop  had 
granted  more  than  he  had  intended,  and  more  than  he  would 
honestly  try  to  abide  by. 

By  command,  Beaupere  resumed  his  examination  of  the 
accused.  It  being  Lent,  there  might  be  a  chance  to  catch 
her  neglecting  some  detail  of  her  religious  duties.  I  could 
have  told  him  he  would  fail  there.  Why,  religion  was  her 
life! 

"  Since  when  have  you  eaten  or  drunk?" 

If  the  least  thing  had  passed  her  lips  in  the  nature  of  sus 
tenance,  neither  her  youth  nor  the  fact  that  she  was  being 
half  starved  in  her  prison  could  save  her  from  dangerous  sus 
picion  of  contempt  for  the  commandments  of  the  Church. 

"  I  have  done  neither  since  yesterday  at  noon." 

The  priest  shifted  to  the  Voices  again. 

"When  have  you  heard  your  Voice  ?" 

"  Yesterday  and  to-day." 

"  At  what  time  ?" 

"  Yesterday  it  was  in  the  morning." 

"What  were  you  doing,  then?" 


352 


"  I  was  asleep  and  it  woke  me." 

"  By  touching  your  arm  ?" 

"  No  ;  without  touching  me." 

"  Did  you  thank  it  ?     Did  you  kneel  ?" 

He  had  Satan  in  his  mind,  you  see ;  and  was  hoping,  per 
haps,  that  by-and-by  it  could  be  shown  that  she  had  ren 
dered  homage  to  the  archenemy  of  God  and  man. 

"Yes,  I  thanked  it;  and  knelt  in  my  bed  where  I  was 
chained,  and  joined  my  hands  and  begged  it  to  implore  God's 
help  for  me  so  that  I  might  have  light  and  instruction  as 
touching  the  answers  I  should  give  here." 

"  Then  what  did  the  Voice  say  ?" 

"  It  told  me  to  answer  boldly,  and  God  would  help  me." 
Then  she  turned  toward  Cauchon  and  said,  "You  say  that 
you  are  my  judge ;  now  I  tell  you  again,  take  care  what  you 
do,  for  in  truth  I  am  sent  of  God  and  you  are  putting  your 
self  in  great  danger." 

Beaupere  asked  her  if  the  Voice's  counsels  were  not  fickle 
and  variable. 

"  No.  It  never  contradicts  itself.  This  very  day  it  has 
told  me  again  to  answer  boldly." 

"  Has  it  forbidden  you  to  answer  only  part  of  what  is 
asked  you  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  nothing  as  to  that.  I  have  revelations 
touching  the  King  my  master,  and  those  I  will  not  tell  you." 
Then  she  was  stirred  by  a  great  emotion,  and  the  tears  sprang 
to  her  eyes  and  she  spoke  out  as  with  strong  conviction, 
saying— 

"  I  believe  wholly — as  wholly  as  I  believe  the  Christian 
faith  and  that  God  has  redeemed  us  from  the  fires  of  hell, 
that  God  speaks  to  me  by  that  Voice !" 

Being  questioned  further  concerning  the  Voice,  she  said 
she  was  not  at  liberty  to  tell  all  she  knew. 

"  Do  you  think  God  would  be  displeased  at  your  telling  the 
whole  truth  ?" 

"The  Voice  has  commanded  me  to  tell  the  King  certain 
things,  and  not  you — and  some  very  lately — even  last  night; 


353 


things  which  I  would  he  knew.  He  would  be  more  easy  at 
his  dinner." 

"Why  doesn't  the  Voice  speak  to  the  King  itself,  as  it  did 
when  you  were  with  him  ?  Would  it  not  if  you  asked  it  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  if  it  be  the  wish  of  God."  She  was  pen 
sive,  a  moment  or  two,  busy  with  her  thoughts  and  far  away, 
no  doubt ;  then  she  added  a  remark  in  which  Beaupere,  al 
ways  watchful,  always  alert,  detected  a  possible  opening— a 
chance  to  set  a  trap.  Do  you  think  he  jumped  at  it  instantly, 
betraying  the  joy  he  had  in  his  find,  as  a  young  hand  at  craft 
and  artifice  would  do  ?  No,  oh,  no,  you  could  not  tell  that  he 
had  noticed  the  remark  at  all.  He  slid  indifferently  away 
from  it  at  once,  and  began  to  ask  idle  questions  about  other 
things,  so  as  to  slip  around  and  spring  on  it  from  behind,  so 
to  speak  :  tedious  and  empty  questions  as  to  whether  the 
Voice  had  told  her  she  would  escape  from  this  prison ;  and 
if  it  had  furnished  answers  to  be  used  by  her  in  to-day's 
seance  ;  if  it  was  accompanied  with  a  glory  of  light ;  if  it  had 
eyes,  etc.  That  risky  remark  of  Joan's  was  this  : 

"Without  the  Grace  of  God  I  could  do  nothing." 

The  court  saw  the  priest's  game,  and  watched  his  play  with 
a  cruel  eagerness.  Poor  Joan  was  grown  dreamy  and  absent; 
possibly  she  was  tired.  Her  life  was  in  imminent  danger,  and 
she  did  not  suspect  it.  The  time  was  ripe  now,  and  Beaupere 
quietly  and  stealthily  sprung  his  trap  : 

"  Are  you  in  a  state  ^of  Grace  ?" 

Ah,  we  had  two  or  three  honorable  brave  men  in  that  pack 
of  judges ;  and  Jean  Lefevre  was  one  of  them.  He  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  cried  out — 

"It  is  a  terrible  question  !  The  accused  is  not  obliged  to 
answer  it !" 

Cauchon's  face  flushed  black  with  anger  to  see  this  plank 
flung  to  the  perishing  child,  and  he  shouted — • 

"  Silence !  and  take  your  seat.  The  accused  will  answer 
the  question  !" 

There  was  no  hope,  no  way  out  of  the  dilemma  ;  for  whether 
she  said  yes  or  whether  she  said  no,  it  would  be  all  the  same — 
23 


354 

a  disastrous  answer,  for  the  Scriptures  had  said  one  cannot 
know  this  thing.  Think  what  hard  hearts  they  were  to  set 
this  fatal  snare  for  that  ignorant  young  girl  and  be  proud  of 
such  work  and  happy  in  it.  It  was  a  miserable  moment  for 
me  while  we  waited  ;  it  seemed  a  year.  All  the  house  showed 
excitement ;  and  mainly  it  was  glad  excitement.  Joan  looked 
out  upon  these  hungering  faces  with  innocent  untroubled  eyes, 
and  then  humbly  and  gently  she  brought  out  that  immortal  an 
swer  which  brushed  the  formidable  snare  away  as  it  had  been 
but  a  cobweb  : 

"  If I 'be  not  in  a  state  of  Grace,  I  pray  God  place  me  in  it; 
if  I  be  in  it,  I  pray  God  keep  me  so" 

Ah,  you  will  never  see  an  effect  like  that ;  no,  not  while  you 
live.  For  a  space  there  was  the  silence  of  the  grave.  Men 
looked  wondering  into  each  other's  faces,  and  some  were  awed 
and  crossed  themselves ;  and  I  heard  Lefevre  mutter — 

"  It  was  beyond  the  wisdom  of  man  to  devise  that  answer. 
Whence  come  this  child's  amazing  inspirations?" 

Beaupere  presently  took  up  his  work  again,  but  the  humili 
ation  of  his  defeat  weighed  upon  him,  and  he  made  but  a 
rambling  and  dreary  business  of  it,  he  not  being  able  to  put 
any  heart  in  it. 

He  asked  Joan  a  thousand  questions  about  her  childhood 
and  about  the  oak  wood,  and  the  fairies,  and  the  children's 
games  and  romps  under  our  dear  Arbre  Fee  de  Bourlemont, 
and  this  stirring  up  of  old  memories  broke  her  voice  and  made 
her  cry  a  little,  but  she  bore  up  as  well  as  she  could,  and  an 
swered  everything. 

Then  the  priest  finished  by  touching  again  upon  the  matter 
of  her  apparel — a  matter  which  was  never  to  be  lost  sight  of  in 
this  still-hunt  for  this  innocent  creature's  life,  but  kept  always 
hanging  over  her,  a  menace  charged  with  mournful  possibili 
ties  : 

"  Would  you  like  a  woman's  dress  ?" 

"Indeed  yes,  if  I  may  go  out  from  this  prison— but  here, 
"no." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  court  met  next  on  Monday  the  27th.  Would  you  be 
lieve  it?  The  Bishop  ignored  the  contract  limiting  the  exam 
ination  to  matters  set  down  in  the  proces  verbal  and  again 
commanded  Joan  to  take  the  oath  without  reservations.  She 
said — 

"You  should  be  content;  I  have  sworn  enough." 

She  stood  her  ground,  and  Cauchon  had  to  yield. 

The  examination  was  resumed,  concerning  Joan's  Voices. 

"You  have  said  that  you  recognized  them  as  being  the 
Voices  of  angels  the  third  time  that  you  heard  them.  What 
angels  were  they  ?" 

"  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Marguerite." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  it  was  those  two  saints  ?  How 
could  you  tell  the  one  from  the  other  ?'' 

"  I  know  it  was  they  ;  and  I  know  how  to  distinguish  them." 

"  By  what  sign  ?" 

"  By  their  manner  of  saluting  me.  I  have  been  these  sev 
en  years  under  their  direction,  and  I  knew  who  they  were  be 
cause  they  told  me." 

"  Whose  was  the  first  Voice  that  came  to  you  when  you  were 
thirteen  years  old  ?" 

"  It  was  the  Voice  of  St.  Michael.  I  saw  him  before  my 
eyes ;  and  he  was  not  alone,  but  attended  by  a  cloud  of  an 
gels." 

"  Did  you  see  the  archangel  and  the  attendant  angels  in 
the  body,  or  in  the  spirit  ?" 

"  I  saw  them  with  the  eyes  of  my  body,  just  as  I  see  you ; 
and  when  they  went  away  I  cried  because  they  did  not  take 
me  with  them." 


356 

It  made  me  see  that  awful  shadow  again  that  fell  dazzling 
white  upon  her  that  day  under  FArbre  Fee  de  Bourlemont, 
and  it  made  me  shiver  again,  though  it  was  so  long  ago.  It 
was  really  not  very  long  gone  by,  but  it  seemed  so,  because 
so  much  had  happened  since. 

"  In  what  shape  and  form  did  St.  Michael  appear  ?" 

"  As  to  that,  I  have  not  received  permission  to  speak." 

"  What  did  the  archangel  say  to  you  that  first  time  ?" 

"  I  cannot  answer  you  to-day." 

Meaning,  I  think,  that  she  would  have  to  get  permission  of 
her  Voices  first. 

Presently,  after  some  more  questions  as  to  the  revelations 
which  had  been  conveyed  through  her  to  the  King,  she  com 
plained  of  the  unnecessity  of  all  this,  and  said — 

"I  will  say  again,  as  I  have  said  before,  many  times  in 
these  sittings,  that  I  answered  all  questions  of  this  sort  before 
the  court  at  Poitiers,  and  I  would  that  you  would  bring  here 
the  record  of  that  court  and  read  from  that.  Prithee  sent! 
for  that  book." 

There  was  no  answer.  It  was  a  subject  that  had  to  be  got 
around  and  put  aside.  That  book  had  wisely  been  gotten 
out  of  the  way,  for  it  contained  things  which  would  be  very 
awkward  here.  Among  them  was  a  decision  that  Joan's  mis 
sion  was  from  God,  whereas  it  was  the  intention  of  this  infe 
rior  court  to  show  that  it  was  from  the  devil;  also  a  decision 
permitting  Joan  to  wear  male  attire,  whereas  it  was  the  pur 
pose  of  this  court  to  make  the  male  attire  do  hurtful  work 
against  her. 

"How  was  it  that  you  were  moved  to  come  into  France — 
by  your  own  desire  ?" 

"  Yes ,  and  by  command  of  God.  But  that  it  was  his  will 
I  would  not  have  come.  I  would  sooner  have  had  my  body 
torn  in  sunder  by  horses  than  come,  lacking  that." 

Beaupere  shifted  once  more  to  the  matter  of  the  male  at 
tire,  now,  and  proceeded  to  make  a  solemn  talk  about  it. 
That  tried  Joan's  patience ;  and  presently  she  interrupted 
and  said — 


357 

"  It  is  a  trifling  thing  and  of  no  consequence.  And  I  did 
not  put  it  on  by  counsel  of  any  man,  but  by  command  of 
God." 

"  Robert  de  Baudricourt  did  not  order  you  to  wear  it?" 

"No." 

"  Do  you  think  you  did  well  in  taking  the  dress  of  a  man  ?" 

"  I  did  well  to  do  whatsoever  thing  God  commanded  me 
to  do." 

"  But  in  this  particular  case  do  you  think  you  did  well  in 
taking  the  dress  of  a  man  ?" 

"  I  have  done  nothing  but  by  command  of  God." 

Beaupere  made  various  attempts  to  lead  her  into  contra 
dictions  of  herself;  also  to  put  her  words  and  acts  in  disac 
cord  with  the  Scriptures.  But  it  was  lost  time.  He  did  not 
succeed.  He  returned  to  her  visions,  the  light  which  shone 
about  them,  her  relations  with  the  King,  and  so  on. 

"  Was  there  an  angel  above  the  King's  head  the  first  time 
you  saw  him?" 

"  By  the  Blessed  Mary  !— " 

She  forced  her  impatience  down,  and  finished  her  sentence 
with  tranquillity :  "  If  there  was  one  I  did  not  see  it." 

"Was  there  light?" 

"  There  were  more  than  three  hundred  soldiers  there,  and 
five  hundred  torches,  without  taking  account  of  spiritual  light." 

"What  made  the  King  believe  in  the  revelations  which 
you  brought  him  ?" 

"  He  had  signs ;  also  the  counsel  of  the  clergy." 

"What  revelations  were  made  to  the  King?" 

"You  will  not  get  that  out  of  me  this  year."  Presently  she 
added  :  "  During  three  weeks  I  was  questioned  by  the  clergy 
at  Chinon  and  Poitiers.  The  King  had  a  sign  before  he 
would  believe ;  and  the  clergy  were  of  opinion  that  my  acts 
were  good  and  not  evil." 

The  subject  was  dropped  now  for  a  while,  and  Beaupere 
took  up  the  matter  of  the  miraculous  sword  of  Fierbois  to  see 
if  he  could  not  find  a  chance  there  to  fix  the  crime  of  sorcery 
upon  Joan. 


358 

"  How  did  you  know  that  there  was  an  ancient  sword  buried 
in  the  ground  under  the  rear  of  the  altar  of  the  church  of 
St.  Catherine  of  Fierbois  ?" 

Joan  had  no  concealments  to  make  as  to  this : 

"  I  knew  the  sword  was  there  because  my  Voices  told  me 
so;  and  I  sent  to  ask  that  it  be  given  to  me  to  carry  in  the 
wars.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  not  very  deep  in  the 
ground.  The  clergy  of  the  church  caused  it  to  be  sought  for 
and  dug  up  ;  and  they  polished  it,  and  the  rust  fell  easily  off 
from  it." 

"Were  you  wearing  it  when"  you  were  taken  in  battle  at 
Compiegne  ?'' 

"  No.  But  I  wore  it  constantly  until  I  left  St.  Denis  after 
the  attack  upon  Paris." 

This  sword,  so  mysteriously  discovered  and  so  long  and  so 
constantly  victorious,  was  suspected  of  being  under  the  pro 
tection  of  enchantment. 

"Was  that  sword  blest  ?  What  blessing  had  been  invoked 
upon  it?" 

"  None.  I  loved  it  because  it  was  found  in  the  church  of 
St.  Catherine,  for  I  loved  that  church  very  dearly." 

She  loved  it  because  it  had  been  built  in  honor  of  one  of 
her  angels. 

"  Didn't  you  lay  it  upon  the  altar,  to  the  end  that  it  might 
be  lucky?"  (The  altar  of  St.  Denis.) 

"No." 

"  Didn't  you  pray  that  it  might  be  made  lucky  ? ' 

"  Truly  it  were  no  harm  to  wish  that  my  harness  might  be 
fortunate." 

"Then  it  was  not  that  sword  which  you  wore  in  the  field 
of  Compiegne  ?  What  sword  did  you  wear  there  ?" 

The  sword  of  the  Burgundian  Franquet  d'Arras,  whom  I 
took  prisoner  in  the  engagement  at  Lagny.  I  kept  it  be 
cause  it  was  a  good  war-sword — good  to  lay  on  stout  thumps 
and  blows  with." 

She  said  that  quite  simply ;  and  the  contrast  between  her 
delicate  little  self  and  the  grim  soldier- words  which  she 


359 


dropped  with  such  easy  familiarity  from  her  lips  made  many 
spectators  smile. 

"  What  is  become  of  the  other  sword  ?     Where  is  it  now  ?" 

"Is  that  in  the  proces  verbal  ?" 

Beaupere  did  not  answer. 

"  Which  do  you  love  best,  your  banner  or  your  sword  ?" 

Her  eye  lighted  gladly  at  the  mention  of  her  banner,  and 
she  cried  out — 

"I  love  my  banner  best  —  oh,  forty  times  more  than  the 
sword !  Sometimes  I  carried  it  myself  when  I  charged  the 
enemy,  to  avoid  killing  any  one."  Then  she  added,  naively, 
and  with  again  that  curious  contrast  between  her  girlish 
little  personality  and  her  subject,  "  I  have  never  killed  any 
one." 

It  made  a  great  many  smile;  and  no  wonder,  when  you 
consider  what  a  gentle  and  innocent  little  thing  she  looked. 
One  could  hardly  believe  she  had  ever  even  seen  men  slaugh 
tered,  she  looked  so  little  fitted  for  such  things. 

"  In  the  final  assault  at  Orleans  did  you  tell  your  soldiers 
that  the  arrows  shot  by  the  enemy  and  the  stones  discharged 
from  their  catapults  and  cannon  would  not  strike  any  one 
but  you  ?" 

"No.  And  the  proof  is,  that  more  than  a  hundred  of  my 
men  were  struck.  I  told  them  to  have  no  doubts  and  no 
fears ;  that  they  would  raise  the  siege.  I  was  wounded  in  the 
neck  by  an  arrow  in  the  assault  upon  the  bastille  that  com 
manded  the  bridge,  but  St.  Catherine  comforted  me  and  I 
was  cured  in  fifteen  days  without  having  to  quit  the  saddle 
and  leave  my  work." 

"  Did  you  know  that  you  were  going  to  be  wounded  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  had  told  it  to  the  King  beforehand.  I  had 
it  from  my  Voices." 

"  When  you  took  Jargeau,  why  did  you  not  put  its  com 
mandant  to  ransom  ?" 

"  I  offered  him  leave  to  go  out  unhurt  from  the  place,  with 
all  his  garrison  ;  and  if  he  would  not  I  would  take  it  by  storm." 

"  And  you  did,  I  believe." 


360 


"  Yes." 

"  Had  your  Voices  counselled  you  to  take  it  by  storm  ?" 

"  As  to  that,  I  do  not  remember." 

Thus  closed  a  weary  long  sitting,  without  result.  Every 
device  that  could  be  contrived  to  trap  Joan  into  wrong  think 
ing,  wrong  doing,  or  disloyalty  to  the  Church,  or  sinfulness  as 
a  little  child  at  home  or  later  had  been  tried,  and  none  of  them 
had  succeeded.  She  had  come  unscathed  through  the  ordeal. 

Was  the  court  discouraged  ?  No.  Naturally  it  was  very 
much  surprised,  very  much  astonished,  to  find  its  work  baf 
fling  and  difficult  instead  of  simple  and  easy,  but  it  had  pow 
erful  allies  in  the  shape  of  hunger,  cold,  fatigue,  persecution, 
deception,  and  treachery ;  and  opposed  to  this  array  nothing 
but  a  defenceless  and  ignorant  girl  who  must  some  time  or 
other  surrender  to  bodily  and  mental  exhaustion  or  get  caught 
in  one  of  the  thousand  traps  set  for  her. 

And  had  the  court  made  no  progress  during  these  seem 
ingly  resultless  sittings  ?  Yes.  It  had  been  feeling  its  way, 
groping  here,  groping  there,  and  had  found  one  or  two  vague 
trails  which  might  freshen  by-and-by  and  lead  to  something. 
The  male  attire,  for  instance,  and  the  visions  and  Voices. 
Of  course  no  one  doubted  that  she  had  seen  supernatural 
beings  and  been  spoken  to  and  advised  by  them.  And  of 
course  no  one  doubted  that  by  supernatural  help  miracles 
had  been  done  by  Joan,  such  as  choosing  out  the  King  in  a 
crowd  when  she  had  never  seen  him  before,  and  her  discov 
ery  of  the  sword  buried  under  the  altar.  It  would  have  been 
foolish  to  doubt  these  things,  for  we  all  know  that  the  air  is 
full  of  devils  and  angels  that  are  visible  to  traffickers  in  magic 
on  the  one  hand  and  to  the  stainlessly  holy  on  the  other  ; 
but  what  many  and  perhaps  most  did  doubt  was,  that  Joan's 
visions,  voices,  and  miracles  came  from  God.  It  was  hoped 
that  in  time  they  could  be  proven  to  have  been  of  satanic  origin. 
Therefore,  as  you  see,  the  court's  persistent  fashion  of  coming 
back  to  that  subject  every  little  while  and  spooking  around  it 
and  prying  into  it  was  not  to  pass  the  time — it  had  a  strictly 
business  end  in  view. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  next  sitting  opened  on  Thursday  the  first  of  March. 
Fifty-eight  judges  present— the  others  resting. 

As  usual,  Joan  was  required  to  take  an  oath  without  reser 
vations.  She  showed  no  temper  this  time.  She  considered 
herself  well  buttressed  by  the  proces  verbal  compromise  which 
Cauchon  was  so  anxious  to  repudiate  and  creep  out  of  ;  so 
she  merely  refused,  distinctly  and  decidedly ;  and  added,  in 
a  spirit  of  fairness  and  candor — 

"  But  as  to  matters  set  down  in  the  proces  verbal,  J_wil_l_ 
freely  tell  the  whole  truth — yes,  as  freely  and  fully  as  if  I 
were  before  the  Pope." 

Here  was  a  chance  !  We  had  two  or  three  Popes,  then  ; 
only  one  of  them  could  be  the  true  Pope,  of  course.  Every 
body  judiciously  shirked  the  question  of  which  was  the  true 
Pope  and  refrained  from  naming  him,  it  being  clearly  dan 
gerous  to  go  into  particulars  in  this  matter.  Here  was  an 
opportunity  to  trick  an  unadvised  girl  into  bringing  herself 
into  peril,  and  the  unfair  judge  lost  no  time  in  taking  advan 
tage  of  it.  He  asked,  in  a  plausibly  indolent  and  absent 
way— 

"  Which  one  do  you  consider  to  be  the  true  Pope  JT' 

The  house  took  an  attitude  of  deep  attention,  and  so  waited 
to  hear  the  answer  and  see  the  prey  walk  into  the  trap.  But 
when  the  answer  came  it  covered  the  judge  with  confusion, 
and  you  could  see  many  people  covertly  chuckling.  For  Joan 
asked  in  a  voice  and  manner  which  almost  deceived  even  me, 
so  innocent  it  seemed — 

"  Are  there  two  ?" 

One  of  the  ablest  priests  in  that  body  and  one  of  the  best 


362 

swearers  there,  spoke  right  out  so  that  half  the  house  heard 
him,  and  said — 

"  By  God  it  was  a  master  stroke  !" 

As  soon  as  the  judge  was  better  of  his  embarrassment  he 
came  back  to  the  charge,  but  was  prudent  and  passed  by 
Joan's  question — 

"  Is  it  true  that  you  received  a  letter  from  the  Count  of  Ar- 
magnac  asking  you  which  of  the  three  Popes  he  ought  to 
obey?1' 

"Yes,  and  answered  it." 

Copies  of  both  letters  were  produced  and  read.  Joan  said 
that  hers  had  not  been  quite  strictly  copied.  She  said  she 
had  received  the  Count's  letter  when  she  was  just  mounting 
her  horse  ;  and  added — 

"  So,  in  dictating  a  word  or  two  of  reply  I  said  I  would  try 
to  answer  him  from  Paris  or  somewhere  where  I  could  be  at 
rest." 

She  was  asked  again  which  Pope  she  had  considered  the 
right  one. 

"  I  was  not  able  to  instruct  the  Count  of  Armagnac  as  to 
which  one  he  ought  to  obey  ";  then  she  added,  with  a  frank 
fearlessness  which  sounded  fresh  and  wholesome  in  that  den 
of  trimmers  and  shufflers,  "  but  as  for  me,  I  hold  that  we  are 
bound  to  obey  our  Lord  the  Pope  who  is  at  Rome." 

The  matter  was  dropped.  Then  they  produced  and  read  a 
copy  of  Joan's  first  effort  at  dictating — her  proclamation  sum 
moning  the  English  to  retire  from  the  siege  of  Orleans  and 
vacate  France — truly  a  great  and  fine  production  for  an  un 
practised  girl  of  seventeen. 

"  Do  you  acknowledge  as  your  own  the  document  which 
has  just  been  read  ?" 

"  Yes,  except  that  there  are  errors  in  it — words  which  make 
me  give  myself  too  much  importance."  I  saw  what  was  com 
ing;  I  was  troubled  and  ashamed.  "  For  instance,  I  did  not 
say  '  Deliver  up  to  the  Maid  '  (rendez  a  la  Puerile)-,  I  said  '  De 
liver  up  to  the  King'  (rendez  au  Rot] ;  and  I  did  not  call  my 
self  '  Commander-  in  -  Chief '  (chef  de  guerre).  All  those  are 


363 

words  which  my  secretary  substituted  ;  or  mayhap  he  mis 
heard  me  or  forgot  what  I  said." 

She  did  not  look  at  me  when  she  said  it ;  she  spared  me 
that  embarrassment.  I  hadn't  misheard  her  at  all,  and  hadn't 
forgotten.  I  changed  her  language  purposely,  for  she  was 
Commander-in-Chief  and  entitled  to  call  herself  so,  and  it  was 
becoming  and  proper,  too ;  and  who  was  going  to  surrender 
anything  to  the  King  ? — at  that  time  a  stick,  a  cipher  ?  If 
any  surrendering  was  done,  it  would  be  to  the  noble  Maid  of 
Vaucouleurs,  already  famed  and  formidable  though  she  had 
not  yet  struck  a  blow. 

Ah,  there  would  have  been  a  fine  and  disagreeable  episode 
(for  me)  there,  if  that  pitiless  court  had  discovered  that  the 
very  scribbler  of  that  piece  of  dictation,  secretary  to  Joan  of 
Arc,  was  present — and  not  only  present,  but  helping  build  the 
record  ;  and  not  only  that,  but  destined  at  a  far  distant  day 
to  testify  against  lies  and  perversions  smuggled  into  it  by 
Cauchon  and  deliver  them  over  to  eternal  infamy ! 

"  Do  you  acknowledge  that  you  dictated  this  proclamation?1' 

"  I  do." 

"  Have  you  repented  of  it  ?    Do  you  retract  it  ?" 

Ah,  then  she  was  indignant ! 

"  No  !  Not  even  these  chains  " —  and  she  shook  them — 
"  not  even  these  chains  can  chill  the  hopes  that  I  uttered 
there.  And  more!" — she  rose,  and  stood  a  moment  with  a 
divine  strange  light  kindling  in  her  face,  then  her  words  burst 
forth  as  in  a  flood — "  I  warn  you  now  that  before  seven  years 
a  disaster  will  smite  the  English,  oh,  many  fold  greater  than 
the  fall  of  Orleans  !  and — " 

"  Silence  !     Sit  down  !" 

"  — and  then,  soon  after,  they  will  lose  all  France  f 

Now  consider  these  things.  The  French  armies  no  longer 
existed.  The  French  cause  was  standing  still,  our  King  was 
standing  still,  there  was  no  hint  that  by-and-by  the  Constable 
Richemont  would  come  forward  and  take  up  the  great  work 
of  Joan  of  Arc  and  finish  it.  In  face  of  all  this,  Joan  made  that 
prophecy — made  it  with  perfect  confidence — and  it  came  true. 


364 

For  within  five  years  Paris  fell  — 1436  —  and  our  King 
marched  into  it  flying  the  victor's  flag.  So  the  first  part  of 
the  prophecy  was  then  fulfilled — in  fact,  almost  the  entire 
prophecy ;  for,  with  Paris  in  our  hands,  the  fulfilment  of  the 
rest  of  it  was  assured. 

Twenty  years  later  all  France  was  ours  excepting  a  single 
town — Calais. 

Now  that  will  remind  you  of  an  earlier  prophecy  of  Joan's. 
At  the  time  that  she  wanted  to  take  Paris  and  could  have 
done  it  with  ease  if  our  King  had  but  consented,  she  said 
that  that  was  the  golden  time ;  that  with  Paris  ours,  all  France 
would  be  ours  in  six  months.  But  if  this  golden  opportunity 
to  recover  France  was  wasted,  said  she,  "  /  give  you  twenty 
years  to  do  it  in" 

She  was  right.  After  Paris  fell,  in  1436,  the  rest  of  the 
work  had  to  be  done  city  by  city,  castle  by  castle,  and  it  took 
twenty  years  to  finish  it. 

Yes,  it  was  the  first  day  of  March,  1431,  there  in  the  court, 
that  she  stood  in  the  view  of  everybody  and  uttered  that 
strange  and  incredible  prediction.  Now  and  then,  in  this 
world,  somebody's  prophecy  turns  up  correct,  but  when  you 
come  to  look  into  it  there  is  sure  to  be  considerable  room  for 
suspicion  that  the  prophecy  was  made  after  the  fact.  But 
here  the  matter  is  different.  There  in  that  court  Joan's  proph 
ecy  was  set  down  in  the  official  record  at  the  hour  and  mo 
ment  of  its  utterance,  years  before  the  fulfilment,  and  there 
you  may  read  it  to  this  day.  Twenty-five  years  after  Joan's 
death  the  record  was  produced  in  the  great  Court  of  the  Re 
habilitation  and  verified  under  oath  by  Manchon  and  me,  and 
surviving  judges  of  our  court  confirmed  the  exactness  of  the 
record  in  their  testimony. 

Joan's  startling  utterance  on  that  now  so  celebrated  first  of 
March  stirred  up  a  great  turmoil,  and  it  was  some  lime  before 
it  quieted  down  again.  Naturally  everybody  was  troubled, 
for  a  prophecy  is  a  grisly  and  awful  thing,  whether  one  thinks 
it  ascends  from  hell  or  comes  down  from  heaven.  All  that 
these  people  felt  sure  of  was,  that  the  inspiration  back  of  it 


365 

was  genuine  and  puissant.  They  would  have  given  their  right 
hands  to  know  the  source  of  it. 

At  last  the  questions  began  again. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  those  things  are  going  to  happen  ?" 

"  I  know  it  by  revelation.  And  I  know  it  as  surely  as  I 
know  that  you  sit  here  before  me." 

This  sort  of  answer  was  not  going  to  allay  the  spreading 
uneasiness.  Therefore,  after  some  further  dallying  the  judge 
got  the  subject  out  of  the  way  and  took  up  one  which  he  could 
enjoy  more. 

"  What  language  do  your  Voices  speak  ?" 

"  French." 

"  St.  Marguerite,  too  ?" 

"Verily;  why  not?  She  is  on  our  side,  not  on  the  Eng 
lish  ?" 

Saints  and  angels  who  did  not  condescend  to  speak  Eng 
lish  !  a  grave  affront.  They  could  not  be  brought  into  court 
and  punished  for  contempt,  but  the  tribunal  could  take  silent 
note  of  Joan's  remark  and  remember  it  against  her;  which 
they  did.  It  might  be  useful  by-and-by. 

"  Do  your  saints  and  angels  wear  jewelry? — crowns,  rings, 
ear-rings  ?" 

To  Joan,  questions  like  this  were  profane  frivolities  and 
not  worthy  of  serious  notice  ;  she  answered  indifferently.  But 
the  question  brought  to  her  mind  another  matter,  and  she 
turned  upon  Cauchon  and  said — 

"  I  had  two  rings.  They  have  been  taken  away  from  me 
during  my  captivity.  You  have  one  of  them.  It  is  the  gift 
of  my  brother.  Give  it  back  to  me.  If  not  to  me,  then  I 
pray  that  it  be  given  to  the  Church." 

The  judges  conceived  the  idea  that  maybe  these  rings  were 
for  the  working  of  enchantments.  Perhaps  they  could  be 
made  to  do  Joan  a  damage. 

"  Where  is  the  other  ring  ?" 

"  The  Burgundians  have  it." 

"  Where  did  you  get  it  ?" 

"  My  father  and  mother  gave  it  to  me." 


366 


"  Describe  it." 

"  It  is  plain  and  simple  and  has  '  Jesus  and  Mary '  engraved 
upon  it." 

Everybody  could  see  that  that  was  not  a  valuable  equip 
ment  to  do  devil's  work  with.  So  that  trail  was  not  worth 
following.  Still,  to  make  sure,  one  of  the  judges  asked  Joan 
if  she  had  ever  cured  sick  people  by  touching  them  with  the 
ring.  She  said  no. 

"  Now  as  concerning  the  fairies,  that  were  used  to  abide 
near  by  Doinremy  whereof  there  are  many  reports  and  tradi 
tions.  It  is  said  that  your  godmother  surprised  these  creat 
ures  on  a  summer's  night  dancing  under  the  tree  called  L'Arbre 
Fee  de  Bourlemont.  Is  it  not  possible  that  your  pretended 
saints  and  angels  are  but  those  fairies  ?" 

"  Is  that  in  your  proces  .?" 

She  made  no  other  answer. 

"  Have  you  not  conversed  with  St.  Marguerite  and  St.  Cathe 
rine  under  that  tree  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  Or  by  the  fountain  near  the  tree  ?" 

"  Yes,  sometimes." 

"What  promises  did  they  make  you?" 

"  None  but  such  as  they  had  God's  warrant  for." 

"But  what  promises  did  they  make?" 

"That  is  not  in  your  proces  ;  yet  I  will  say  this  much  :  they 
told  me  that  the  King  would  become  master  of  his  kingdom 
in  spite  of  his  enemies." 

"  And  what  else  ?" 

There  was  a  pause ;  then  she  said  humbly — 

"  They  promised  to  lead  me  to  Paradise." 

If  faces  do  really  betray  what  is  passing  in  men's  minds,  a 
fear  came  upon  many  in  that  house,  at  this  time,  that  maybe, 
after  all,  a  chosen  servant  and  herald  of  God  was  here  being 
hunted  to  her  death.  The  interest  deepened.  Movements 
and  whisperings  ceased  :  the  stillness  became  almost  painful. 

Have  you  noticed  that  almost  from  the  beginning  the  nat 
ure  of  the  questions  asked  Joan  showed  that  in  some  way  or 


36; 


other  the  questioner  very  often  already  knew  his  fact  before 
he  asked  his  question  ?  Have  you  noticed  that  somehow  or 
other  the  questioners  usually  knew  just  how  and  where  to 
search  for  Joan's  secrets  ;  that  they  really  knew  the  bulk  of 
her  privacies — a  fact  not  suspected  by  her — and  that  they  had 
no  task  before  them  but  to  trick  her  into  exposing  those 
secrets  ? 

Do  you  remember  Loyseleur  the  hypocrite,  the  treacherous 
priest,  tool  of  Cauchon  ?  Do  you  remember  that  under  the 
sacred  seal  of  the  confessional  Joan  freely  and  trustingly  re 
vealed  to  him  everything  concerning  her  history  save  only  a 
few  things  regarding  her  supernatural  revelations  which  her 
Voices  had  forbidden  her  to  tell  to  any  one  —  and  that  the 
unjust  judge,  Cauchon,  was  a  hidden  listener  all  the  time? 

Now  you  understand  how  the  inquisitors  were  able  to  de 
vise  that  long  array  of  minutely  prying  questions  ;  questions 
whose  subtlety  and  ingenuity  and  penetration  are  astonishing 
until  we  come  to  remember  Loyseleur's  performance  and  rec 
ognize  their  source.  Ah,  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  you  are  now 
lamenting  this  cruel  iniquity  these  many  years  in  hell !  Yes 
verily,  unless  one  has  come  to  your  help.  There  is  but  one 
among  the  redeemed  that  would  do  it ;  and  it  is  futile  to  hope 
that  that  one  has  not  already  done  it — Joan  of  Arc. 

We  will  return  to  the  court  and  the  questionings. 

"Did  they  make  you  still  another  promise?" 

"  Yes,  but  that  is  not  in  your proces.  I  will  not  tell  it  now, 
but  before  three  months  I  will  tell  it  you." 

The  judge  seems  to  know  the  matter  he  is  asking  about, 
already  ;  one  gets  this  idea  from  his  next  question. 

"  Did  your  Voices  tell  you  that  you  would  be  liberated  be 
fore  three  months  ?" 

Joan  often  showed  a  little  flash  of  surprise  at  the  good 
guessing  of  the  judges,  and  she  showed  one  this  time.  I  was 
frequently  in  terror  to  find  my  mind  (which  /could  not  con 
trol)  criticising  the  Voices  and  saying,  "  They  counsel  her  to 
speak  boldly — a  thing  which  she  would  do  without  any  sug 
gestion  from  them  or  anybody  else — but  when  it  comes  to  tell- 


368 

ing  her  any  useful  thing,  such  as  how  these  conspirators  man 
age  to  guess  their  way  so  skilfully  into  her  affairs,  they  are 
always  off  attending  to  some  other  business."  I  am  reverent 
by  nature ;  and  when  such  thoughts  swept  through  my  head 
they  made  me  cold  with  fear,  and  if  there  was  a  storm  and 
thunder  at  the  time,  I  was  so  ill  that  I  could  but  with  difficul 
ty  abide  at  my  post  and  do  my  work. 

Joan  answered — 

"That  is  not  in  your p races.  I  do  not  know  when  I  shall 
be  set  free,  but  some  who  wish  me  out  of  this  world  will  go 
from  it  before  me." 

It  made  some  of  them  shiver. 

"  Have  your  Voices  told  you  that  you  will  be  delivered 
from  this  prison  ?" 

Without  a  doubt  they  had,  and  the  judge  knew  it  before  he 
asked  the  question. 

"Ask  me  again  in  three  months  and  I  will  tell  you." 

She  said  it  with  such  a  happy  look,  the  tired  prisoner ! 
And  I?  And  Noel  Rainguesson,  drooping  yonder?  —  why, 
the  floods  of  joy  went  streaming  through  us  from  crown  to 
sole  !  It  was  all  that  we  could  do  to  hold  still  and  keep  from 
making  fatal  exposure  of  our  feelings. 

She  was  to  be  set  free  in  three  months.  That  was 
what  she  meant ;  we  saw  it.  The  Voices  had  told  her  so, 
and  told  her  true  —  true  to  the  very  day — May  30.  But 
we  know,  now,  that  they  had  mercifully  hidden  from  her  how 
she  was  to  be  set  free,  but  left  her  in  ignorance.  Home 
again  !  That  was  our  understanding  of  it — Noel's  and  mine  ; 
that  was  our  dream;  and  now  we  would  count  the  days,  the 
hours,  the  minutes.  They  would  fly  lightly  along  ;  they  would 
soon  be  over.  Yes,  we  would  carry  our  idol  home ;  and  there, 
far  from  the  pomps  and  tumults  of  the  wrorld,  we  would  take 
up  our  happy  life  again  and  live  it  out  as  we  had  begun  it,  in 
the  free  air  and  the  sunshine,  with  the  friendly  sheep  and  the 
friendly  people  for  comrades,  and  the  grace  and  charm  of  the 
meadows,  the  woods,  and  the  river  always  before  our  eyes  and 
their  deep  peace  in  our  hearts.  Yes,  that  was  our  dream,  the 


369 


dream  that  carried  us  bravely  through  that  three  months  to  an 
exact  and  awful  fulfilment,  the  thought  of  which  would  have 
killed  us,  I  think,  if  we  had  foreknown  it  and  been  obliged 
to  bear  the  burden  of  it  upon  our  hearts  the  half  of  those 
heavy  days. 

Our  reading  of  the  prophecy  was  this :  We  believed  the 
King's  soul  was  going  to  be  smitten  with  remorse ;  and  that 
he  would  privately  plan  a  rescue  with  Joan's  old  lieutenants, 
D'Alengon  and  the  Bastard  and  La  Hire,  and  that  this  rescue 
would  take  place  at  the  end  of  the  three  months.  So  we  made 
up  our  minds  to  be  ready  and  take  a  hand  in  it. 

In  the  present  and  also  in  later  sittings  Joan  was  urged  to 
name  the  exact  day  of  her  deliverance ;  but  she  could  not  do 
that.  She  had  not  the  permission  of  her  Voices.  Moreover, 
the  Voices  themselves  did  not  name  the  precise  day.  Ever 
since  the  fulfilment  of  the  prophecy,  I  have  believed  that 
Joan  had  the  idea  that  her  deliverance  was  going  to  come  in 
the  form  of  death.  But  not  that  death  !  Divine  as  she  was, 
dauntless  as  she  wras  in  battle,  she  was  human  also.  She 
was  not  solely  a  saint,  an  angel,  she  was  a  clay-made  girl  also 
— as  human  a  girl  as  any  in  the  world,  and  full  of  a  human 
girl's  sensitivenesses  and  tendernesses  and  delicacies.  And 
so,  that  death  !  No,  she  could  not  have  lived  the  three  months 
with  that  one  before  her,  I  think.  You  remember  that  the  first 
time  she  was  wounded  she  was  frightened,  and  cried,  just  as 
any  other  girl  of  seventeen  would  have  done,  although  she 
had  known  for  eighteen  days  that  she  was  going  to  be 
wounded  on  that  very  day.  No,  she  was  not  afraid  of  any 
ordinary  death,  and  an  ordinary  death  was  what  she  believed 
the  prophecy  of  deliverance  meant,  I  think,  for  her  face  showed 
happiness,  not  horror,  when  she  uttered  it. 

Now  I  will  explain  why  I  think  as  I  do.  Five  weeks  be 
fore  she  was  captured  in  the  battle  of  Compiegne,  her  Voices 
told  her  what  was  coming.  They  did  not  tell  her  the  day  or 
the  place,  but  said  she  would  be  taken  prisoner  and  that  it 
would  be  before  the  feast  of  St.  John.  She  begged  that 
death,  certain  and  swift,  should  be  her  fate,  and  the  captivity 
24 


370 

brief;  for  she  was  a  free  spirit,  and  dreaded  the  confinement. 
The  Voices  made  no  promise,  but  only  told  her  to  bear  what 
ever  came.  Now  as  they  did  not  refuse  the  swift  death,  a 
hopeful  young  thing  like  Joan  would  naturally  cherish  that 
fact  and  make  the  most  of  it,  allowing  it  to  grow  and  establish 
itself  in  her  mind.  And  so  now  that  she  was  told  she  was  to 
be  "  delivered  "  in  three  months,  I  think  she  believed  it  meant 
that  she  would  die  in  her  bed  in  the  prison,  and  that  that 
was  why  she  looked  happy  and  content — the  gates  of  Para 
dise  standing  open  for  her,  the  time  so  short,  you  see,  her 
troubles  so  soon  to  be  over,  her  reward  so  close  at  hand. 
Yes,  that  would  make  her  look  happy,  that  would  make  her 
patient  and  bold,  and  able  to  fight  her  fight  out  like  a  soldier. 
Save  herself  if  she  could,  of  course,  and  try  her  best,  for  that 
was  the  way  she  was  made ;  but  die  with  her  face  to  the  front 
if  die  she  must. 

Then  later,  when  she  charged  Cauchon  with  trying  to  kill 
her  with  a  poisoned  fish,  her  notion  that  she  was  to  be  "de 
livered  "  by  death  in  the  prison — if  she  had  it,  and  I  believe 
she  had — would  naturally  be  greatly  strengthened,  you  see. 

But  I  am  wandering  from  the  trial.  Joan  was  asked  to 
definitely  name  the  time  that  she  would  be  delivered  from 
prison. 

"  I  have  always  said  that  I  was  not  permitted  to  tell  you 
everything.  I  am  to  be  set  free,  and  I  desire  to  ask  leave  of 
my  Voices  to  tell  you  the  day.  This  is  why  I  wish  for  delay." 

"  Do  your  Voices  forbid  you  to  tell  the  truth  ?" 

"  Is  it  that  you  wish  to  know  matters  concerning  the  King 
of  France  ?  I  tell  you  again  that  he  will  regain  his  kingdom, 
and  that  I  know  it  as  well  as  I  know  that  you  sit  here  before 
me  in  this  tribunal."  She  sighed  and,  after  a  little  pause, 
added  :  "  I  should  be  dead  but  for  this  revelation,  which  com 
forts  me  always." 

Some  trivial  questions  were  asked  her  about  St.  Michael's 
dress  and  appearance.  She  answered  them  with  dignity,  but 
one  saw  that  they  gave  her  pain.  After  a  little  she  said— 

"I  have  great  joy  in  seeing  him,  for  when  I  see  him  I  have 


THE   MAID    OF    ORLEANS 
(From  the  portrait,  by  an  unknown  painter,  in  the  H6tel  de  Ville  at  Rouen) 


the  feeling  that  I  am  not  in  mortal  sin."  She  added, 
"  Sometimes  St.  Marguerite  and  St.  Catherine  have  allowed 
me  to  confess  myself  to  them." 

Here  was  a  possible  chance  to  set  a  successful  snare  for 
her  innocence. 

"When  you  confessed  were  you  in  mortal  sin,  do  you 
think  ?" 

But  her  reply  did  her  no  hurt.  So  the  inquiry  was  shifted 
once  more  to  the  revelations  made  to  the  King — secrets 
which  the  court  had  tried  again  and  again  to  force  out  of 
Joan,  but  without  success. 

"  Now  as  to  the  sign  given  to  the  King — " 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  will  tell  you  nothing 
about  it." 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  sign  was  ?" 

"  As  to  that,  you  will  not  find  out  from  me." 

All  this  refers  to  Joan's  secret  interview  with  the  King — 
held  apart,  though  two  or  three  others  were  present.  It  was 
known — through  Loyseleur,  of  course — that  this  sign  was  a 
crown  and  was  a  pledge  of  the  verity  of  Joan's  mission.  But 
that  is  all  a  mystery  until  this  day — the  nature  of  the  crown, 
I  mean — and  will  remain  a  mystery  to  the  end  of  time.  We 
can  never  know  whether  a  real  crown  descended  upon  the 
King's  head,  or  only  a  symbol,  the  mystic  fabric  of  a  vision. 

"  Did  you  see  a  crown  upon  the  King's  head  when  he  re 
ceived  the  revelation  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  as  to  that,  without  perjury." 

"  Did  the  King  have  that  crown  at  Rheims  ?" 

"  I  think  the  King  put  upon  his  head  a  crown  which  he 
found  there ;  but  a  much  richer  one  was  brought  him  after 
wards." 

"  Have  you  seen  that  one  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  without  perjury.  But  whether  I  have  seen 
it  or  not,  I  have  heard  say  that  it  was  rich  and  magnificent." 

They  went  on  and  pestered  her  to  weariness  about  that 
mysterious  crown,  but  they  got  nothing  more  out  of  her.  The 
sitting  closed.  A  long,  hard  day  for  all  of  us. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  court  rested  a  day,  then  took  up  work  again  on  Satur 
day  the  third  of  March. 

This  was  one  of  our  stormiest  sessions.  The  whole  court 
was  out  of  patience ;  and  with  good  reason.  These  three 
score  distinguished  churchmen,  illustrious  tacticians,  veteran 
legal  gladiators,  had  left  important  posts  where  their  super 
vision  was  needed,  to  journey  hither  from  various  regions  and 
accomplish  a  most  simple  and  easy  matter — condemn  and 
send  to  death  a  country  lass  of  nineteen  who  could  neither 
read  nor  write,  knew  nothing  of  the  wiles  and  perplexities  of 
legal  procedure,  could  call  not  a  single  witness  in  her  defence, 
was  allowed  no  advocate  or  adviser,  and  must  conduct  her 
case  by  herself  against  a  hostile  judge  and  a  packed  jury.  In 
two  hours  she  would  be  hopelessly  entangled,  routed,  defeat 
ed,  convicted.  Nothing  could  be  more  certain  than  this — so 
they  thought.  But  it  was  a  mistake.  The  two  hours  had 
strung  out  into  days  ;  what  promised  to  be  a  skirmish  had  ex 
panded  into  a  siege ;  the  thing  which  had  looked  so  easy  had 
proven  to  be  surprisingly  difficult ;  the  light  victim  who  was 
to  have  been  puffed  away  like  a  feather  remained  planted  like 
a  rock  ;  and  on  top  of  all  this,  if  anybody  had  a  right  to  laugh 
it  was  the  country  lass  and  not  the  court. 

She  was  not  doing  that,  for  that  was  not  her  spirit ;  but 
others  were  doing  it.  The  whole  town  was  laughing  in  its 
sleeve,  and  the  court  knew  it,  and  its  dignity  was  deeply  hurt. 
The  members  could  not  hide  their  annoyance. 

And  so,  as  I  have  said,  the  session  was  stormy.  It  was 
easy  to  see  that  these  men  had  made  up  their  minds  to  force 
words  from  Joan  to-day  which  should  shorten  up  her  case  and 


373 

bring  it  to  a  prompt  conclusion.  It  shows  that  after  all  their 
experience  with  her  they  did  not  know  her  yet.  They  went 
into  the  battle  with  energy.  They  did  not  leave  the  ques 
tioning  to  a  particular  member  ;  no,  everybody  helped.  They 
volleyed  questions  at  Joan  from  all  over  the  house,  and  some 
times  so  many  were  talking  at  once  that  she  had  to  ask  them 
to  deliver  their  fire  one  at  a  time  and  not  by  platoons.  The 
beginning  was  as  usual : 

"  You  are  once  more  required  to  take  the  oath  pure  and 
simple." 

"  I  will  answer  to  what  is  in  the  proces  verbal.  When  I  do 
more,  I  will  choose  the  occasion  for  myself." 

That  old  ground  was  debated  and  fought  over  inch  by  inch 
with  great  bitterness  and  many  threats.  But  Joan  remained 
steadfast,  and  the  questionings  had  to  shift  to  other  matters. 
Half  an  hour  was  spent  over  Joan's  apparitions — their  dress, 
hair,  general  appearance,  and  so  on — in  the  hope  of  fishing 
something  of  a  damaging  sort  out  of  the  replies  ;  but  with  no 
result. 

Next,  the  male  attire  was  reverted  to,  of  course.  After 
many  well-worn  questions  had  been  re-asked,  one  or  two  new 
ones  were  put  forward. 

"  Did  not  the  King  or  the  Queen  sometimes  ask  you  to  quit 
the  male  dress  ?" 

"That  is  not  in  yo\xr  proces" 

"  Do  you  think  you  would  have  sinned  if  you  had  taken  the 
dress  of  your  sex?" 

"  I  have  done  best  to  serve  and  obey  my  sovereign  Lord 
and  Master." 

After  a  while  the  matter  of  Joan's  Standard  was  taken  up, 
in  the  hope  of  connecting  magic  and  witchcraft  with  it. 

"Did  not  your  men  copy  your  banner  in  their  pennons?" 

"  The  lancers  of  my  guard  did  it.  It  was  to  distinguish 
them  from  the  rest  of  the  forces.  It  was  their  own  idea." 

"  Were  they  often  renewed  ?" 

"  Yes.     When  the  lances  were  broken  they  were  renewed." 

The  purpose  of  the  questions  unveils  itself  in  the  next  one. 


374 


"  Did  you  not  say  to  your  men  that  pennons  made  like  your 
banner  would  be  lucky?" 

The  soldier-spirit  in  Joan  was  offended  at  this  puerility.  She 
drew  herself  up,  and  said  with  dignity  and  fire  :  "  What  I  said 
to  them  was,  '  Ride  these  English  down  !'  and  I  did  it  myself." 

Whenever  she  flung  out  a  scornful  speech  like  that  at  these 
French  menials  in  English  livery  it  lashed  them  into  a  rage ; 
and  that  is  what  happened  this  time.  There  were  ten,  twenty, 
sometimes  even  thirty  of  them  on  their  feet  at  a  time,  storm 
ing  at  the  prisoner  minute  after  minute,  but  Joan  was  not  dis 
turbed. 

By-and-by  there  was  peace,  and  the  inquiry  was  resumed. 

It  was  now  sought  to  turn  against  Joan  the  thousand  lov 
ing  honors  which  had  been  done  her  when  she  was  raising 
France  out  of  the  dirt  and  shame  of  a  century  of  slavery  and 
castigation. 

"  Did  you  not  cause  paintings  and  images  of  yourself  to  be 
made  ?" 

"  No.  At  Arras  I  saw  a  painting  of  myself  kneeling  in  ar 
mor  before  the  King  and  delivering  him  a  letter ;  but  I  caused 
no  such  things  to  be  made." 

"  Were  not  masses  and  prayers  said  in  your  honor  ?" 

"  If  it  was  done  it  was  not  by  my  command.  But  if  any 
prayed  for  me  I  think  it  was  no  harm." 

"  Did  the  French  people  believe  you  were  sent  of  God  ?" 

"  As  to  that,  I  know  not :  but  whether  they  believed  it  or 
not,  I  was  not  the  less  sent  of  God." 

"  If  they  thought  you  were  sent  of  God  do  you  think  it  was 
well  thought  ?" 

"  If  they  believed  it,  their  trust  was  not  abused." 

"  What  impulse  was  it,  think  you,  that  moved  the  people  to 
kiss  your  hands,  your  feet,  and  your  vestments  ?" 

"  They  were  glad  to  see  me,  and  so  they  did  those  things ; 
and  I  could  not  have  prevented  them  if  I  had  had  the  heart. 
Those  poor  people  came  lovingly  to  me  because  I  had  not 
done  them  any  hurt,  but  had  done  the  best  I  could  for  them 
according  to  my  strength." 


375 

See  what  modest  little  words  she  uses  to  describe  that 
touching  spectacle,  her  marches  about  France  walled  in  on 
both  sides  by  the  adoring  multitudes  :  "  They  were  glad  to  see 
me."  Glad  ?  Why,  they  were  transported  with  joy  to  see  her. 
When  they  could  not  kiss  her  hands  or  her  feet,  they  knelt  in 
the  mire  and  kissed  the  hoof-prints  of  her  horse.  They  wor 
shipped  her;  and  that  is  what  these  priests  were  trying  to 
prove.  It  was  nothing  to  them  that  she  was  not  to  blame 
for  what  other  people  did.  No,  if  she  was  worshipped,  it  was 
enough  ;  she  was  guilty  of  mortal  sin.  Curious  logic,  one  must 
say. 

"  Did  you  not  stand  sponsor  for  some  children  baptized  at 
Rheims  ?" 

"  At  Troyes  I  did,  and  at  St.  Denis  ;  and  I  named  the  boys 
Charles,  in  honor  of  the  King,  and  the  girls  I  named  Joan." 

"  Did  not  women  touch  their  rings  to  those  which  you 
wore  ?" 

"  Yes,  many  did,  but  I  did  not  know  their  reason  for  it." 

"At  Rheims  was  your  Standard  carried  into  the  church? 
Did  you  stand  at  the  altar  with  it  in  your  hand  at  the  Coro 
nation  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  In  passing  through  the  country  did  you  confess  yourself 
in  the  churches  and  receive  the  sacrament?" 

"Yes." 

"  In  the  dress  of  a  man  ?" 

"  Yes.     But  I  do  not  remember  that  I  was  in  armor." 

It  was  almost  a  concession  !  almost  a  half-surrender  of  the 
permission  granted  her  by  the  Church  at  Poitiers  to  dress  as 
a  man.  The  wily  court  shifted  to  another  matter :  to  pursue 
this  one  at  this  time  might  call  Joan's  attention  to  her  small 
mistake,  and  by  her  native  cleverness  she  might  recover  her 
lost  ground.  The  tempestuous  session  had  worn  her  and 
drowsed  her  alertness. 

"  It  is  reported  that  you  brought  a  dead  child  to  life  in  the 
church  at  Lagny.  Was  that  in  answer  to  your  prayers  ?" 

"  As  to  that,  I  have  no  knowledge.     Other  young  girls  were 


376 

praying  for  the  child,  and  I  joined  them  and  prayed  also,  do 
ing  no  more  than  they." 

"Continue." 

"  While  we  prayed  it  came  to  life,  and  cried.  It  had  been 
dead  three  days,  and  was  as  black  as  my  doublet.  It  was 
straightway  baptized,  then  it  passed  from  life  again  and  was 
buried  in  holy  ground." 

"Why  did  you  jump  from  the  tower  of  Beaurevoir  by  night 
and  try  to  escape  ?" 

"  I  would  go  to  the  succor  of  Compiegne." 

It  was  insinuated  that  this  was  an  attempt  to  commit  the 
deep  crime  of  suicide  to  avoid  falling  into  the  hands  of  the 
English. 

"  Did  you  not  say  that  you  would  rather  die  than  be  deliv 
ered  into  the  power  of  the  English  ?" 

Joan  answered  frankly,  without  perceiving  the  trap — 

"  Yes ;  my  words  were,  that  I  would  rather  that  my  soul 
be  returned  unto  God  than  that  I  should  fall  into  the  hands 
of  the  English." 

It  was  now  insinuated  that  when  she  came  to,  after  jumping 
from  the  tower,  she  was  angry  and  blasphemed  the  name  of 
God ;  and  that  she  did  it  again  when  she  heard  of  the  defec 
tion  of  the  Commandant  of  Soissons.  She  was  hurt  and  in 
dignant  at  this,  and  said — 

"  It  is  not  true.  I  have  never  cursed.  It  is  not  my  custom 
to  swear." 


CHAPTER    XI 

A  HALT  was  called.  It  was  time.  Cauchon  was  losing 
ground  in  the  fight,  Joan  was  gaining  it.  There  were  signs 
that  here  and  there  in  the  court  a  judge  was  being  softened 
toward  Joan  by  her  courage,  her  presence  of  mind,  her  forti 
tude,  her  constancy,  her  piety,  her  simplicity  and  candor,  her 
manifest  purity,  the  nobility  of  her  character,  her  fine  intelli 
gence,  and  the  good  brave  fight  she  was  making,  all  friendless 
and  alone  against  unfair  odds,  and  there  was  grave  room  for 
fear  that  this  softening  process  would  spread  further  and  pres 
ently  bring  Cauchon's  plans  in  danger. 

Something  must  be  done,  and  it  was  done.  Cauchon  was 
not  distinguished  for  compassion,  but  he  now  gave  proof  that 
he  had  it  in  his  character.  He  thought  it  pity  to  subject  so 
many  judges  to  the  prostrating  fatigues  of  this  trial  when  it 
could  be  conducted  plenty  well  enough  by  a  handful  of  them. 
Oh,  gentle  Judge !  But  he  did  not  remember  to  modify  the 
fatigues  for  the  little  captive. 

He  would  let  all  the  judges  but  a  handful  go,  but  he  would 
select  the  handful  himself,  and  he  did.  He  chose  tigers.  If 
a  lamb  or  two  got  in,  it  was  by  oversight,  not  intention ;  and 
he  knew  what  to  do  with  lambs  when  discovered. 

He  called  a  small  council,  now,  and  during  five  days  they 
sifted  the  huge  bulk  of  answers  thus  far  gathered  from  Joan. 
They  winnowed  it  of  all  chaff,  all  useless  matter — that  is,  all 
matter  favorable  to  Joan ;  they  saved  up  all  matter  which 
could  be  twisted  to  her  hurt,  and  out  of  this  they  constructed 
a  basis  for  a  new  trial  which  should  have  the  semblance  of  a 
continuation  of  the  old  one.  Another  change.  It  was  plain 
that  the  public  trial  had  wrought  damage  :  its  proceedings 


378 


had  been  discussed  all  over  the  town  and  had  moved  many 
to  pity  the  abused  prisoner.  There  should  be  no  more  of 
that.  The  sittings  should  be  secret  hereafter,  and  no  specta 
tors  admitted.  So  Noel  could  come  no  more.  I  sent  this 
news  to  him.  I  had  not  the  heart  to  carry  it  myself.  I  would 
give  the  pain  a  chance  to  modify  before  I  should  see  him  in 
the  evening. 

On  the  tenth  of  March  the  secret  trial  began.  A  week  had 
passed  since  I  had  seen  Joan.  Her  appearance  gave  me  a 
great  shock.  She  looked  tired  and  weak.  She  was  listless 
and  far  away,  and  her  answers  showed  that  she  was  dazed 
and  not  able  to  keep  perfect  run  of  all  that  was  done  and 
said.  Another  court  would  not  have  taken  advantage  of  her 
state,  seeing  that  her  life  was  at  stake  here,  but  would  have 
adjourned  and  spared  her.  Did  this  one  ?  No  ;  it  worried 
her  for  hours,  and  with  a  glad  and  eager  ferocity,  making  all 
it  could  out  of  this  great  chance,  the  first  one  it  had  had. 

She  was  tortured  into  confusing  herself  concerning  the 
"  sign  "  which  had  been  given  the  King,  and  the  next  day 
this  was  continued  hour  after  hour.  As  a  result,  she  made 
partial  revealments  of  particulars  forbidden  by  her  Voices ; 
and  seemed  to  me  to  state  as  facts  things  which  were  but  al 
legories  and  visions  mixed  with  facts. 

The  third  day  she  was  brighter,  and  looked  less  worn. 
She  was  almost  her  normal  self  again,  and  did  her  work  well. 
Many  attempts  were  made  to  beguile  her  into  saying  indis 
creet  things,  but  she  saw  the  purpose  in  view  and  answered 
with  tact  and  wisdom. 

"  Do  you  know  if  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Marguerite  hate  the 
English?" 

"They  love  whom  Our  Lord  loves,  and  hate  whom  He 
hates." 

"Does  God  hate  the  English?" 

"  Of  the  love  or  the  hatred  of  God  toward  the  English  I 
know  nothing."  Then  she  spoke  up  with  the  old  martial 
ring  in  her  voice  and  the  old  audacity  in  her  words,  and 
added,  "  But  I  know  this — that  God  will  send  victory  to  the 


379 


French,  and  that  all  the  English  will  be  flung  out  of  France 
but  the  dead  ones !" 

"Was  God  on  the  side  of  the  English  when  they  were 
prosperous  in  France  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  if  God  hates  the  French,  but  I  think  that 
he  allowed  them  to  be  chastised  for  their  sins." 

It  was  a  sufficiently  nai've  way  to  account  for  a  chastise 
ment  which  had  now  strung  out  for  ninety  -  six  years.  But 
nobody  found  fault  with  it.  There  was  nobody  there  who 
would  not  punish  a  sinner  ninety-six  years  if  he  could,  nor 
anybody  there  who  would  ever  dream  of  such  a  thing  as  the 
Lord's  being  any  shade  less  stringent  than  men. 

"  Have  you  ever  embraced  St.  Marguerite  -and  St.  Cather 
ine  ?" 

"  Yes,  both  of  them." 

The  evil  face  of  Cauchon  betrayed  satisfaction  when  she 
said  that. 

"When  you  hung  garlands  upon  EArbre  Fee  de  Bourle- 
mont,  did  you  do  it  in  honor  of  your  apparitions  ?" 

"No." 

Satisfaction  again.  No  doubt  Cauchon  would  take  it  for 
granted  that  she  hung  them  there  out  of  sinful  love  for  the 
fairies. 

"When  the  saints  appeared  to  you  did  you  bow,  did  you 
make  reverence,  did  you  kneel  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  did  them  the  most  honor  and  the  most  reverence 
that  I  could." 

A  good  point  for  Cauchon  if  he  could  eventually  make  it 
appear  that  these  were  no  saints  to  whom  she  had  done  rev 
erence,  but  devils  in  disguise. 

Now  there  was  the  matter  of  Joan's  keeping  her  supernat 
ural  commerce  a  secret  from  her  parents.  Much  might  be 
made  of  that.  In  fact,  particular  emphasis  had  been  given  to 
it  in  a  private  remark  written  in  the  margin  of  \hzproces :  "  She 
concealed  her  visions  from  her  parents  and  from  every  one" 
Possibly  this  disloyalty  to  her  parents  might  itself  be  the 
sign  of  the  satanic  source  of  her  mission. 


"  Do  you  think  it  was  right  to  go  away  to  the  wars  without 
getting  your  parents'  leave  ?  It  is  written  one  must  honor 
his  father  and  his  mother." 

"  I  have  obeyed  them  in  all  things  but  that.  And  for  that 
I  have  begged  their  forgiveness  in  a  letter  and  gotten  it." 

"  Ah,  you  asked  their  pardon  ?  So  you  knew  you  were 
guilty  of  sin  in  going  without  their  leave!" 

Joan  was  stirred.     Her  eyes  flashed,  and  she  exclaimed — 

"  I  was  commanded  of  God,  and  it  was  right  to  go !  If  I 
had  had  a  hundred  fathers  and  mothers  and  been  a  king's 
daughter  to  boot  I  would  have  gone." 

"Did  you  never  ask  your  Voices  if  you  might  tell  your 
parents  ?" 

"They  were  willing  that  I  should  tell  them,  but  I  would 
not  for  anything  have  given  my  parents  that  pain." 

To  the  minds  of  the  questioners  this  headstrong  conduct 
savored  of  pride.  That  sort  of  pride  would  move  one  to 
seek  sacrilegious  adorations. 

"  Did  not  your  Voices  call  you  Daughter  of  God  ?" 

Joan  answered  with  simplicity,  and  unsuspiciously — 

"Yes;  before  the  siege  of  Orleans  and  since,  they  have 
several  times  called  me  Daughter  of  God." 

Further  indications  of  pride  and  vanity  were  sought. 

"  What  horse  were  you  riding  when  you  were  captured  ? 
Who  gave  it  you  ?" 

"The  King." 

"You  had  other  things — riches — of  the  King?" 

"  For  myself  I  had  horses  and  arms,  and  money  to  pay  the 
service  in  my  household." 

"  Had  you  not  a  treasury  ?" 

"  Yes.  Ten  or  twelve  thousand  crowns."  Then  she  said 
with  naivete,  "  It  was  not  a  great  sum  to  carry  on  a  war  with." 

"  You  have  it  yet  ?" 

"  No.  It  is  the  King's  money.  My  brothers  hold  it  for 
him." 

"What  were  the  arms  which  you  left  as  an  offering  in  the 
church  of  St.  Denis  ?" 


"  My  suit  of  silver  mail  and  a  sword." 

"  Did  you  put  them  there  in  order  that  they  might  be 
adored  ?" 

"  No.  It  was  but  an  act  of  devotion.  And  it  is  the  cus 
tom  of  men  of  war  who  have  been  wounded  to  make  such 
offering  there.  I  had  been  wounded  before  Paris." 

Nothing  appealed  to  those  stony  hearts,  those  dull  imagina 
tions — not  even  this  pretty  picture,  so  simply  drawn,  of  the 
wounded  girl-soldier  hanging  her  toy  harness  there  in  curious 
companionship  with  the  grim  and  dusty  iron  mail  of  the  his 
toric  defenders  of  France.  No,  there  was  nothing  in  it  for 
them  ;  nothing,  unless  evil  and  injury  for  that  innocent  creat 
ure  could  be  gotton  out  of  it  somehow. 

"Which  aided  most  —  you  the  Standard,  or  the  Standard 
you  ?" 

"  Whether  it  was  the  Standard  or  whether  it  was  I,  is  noth 
ing — the  victories  came  from  God." 

"  But  did  you  base  your  hopes  of  victory  in  yourself  or  in 
your  Standard  ?" 

"  In  neither.     In  God,  and  not  otherwhere." 

"Was  not  your  Standard  waved  around  the  King's  head  at 
the  Coronation  ?" 

"No.     It  was  not." 

"Why  was  it  that  your  Standard  had  place  at  the  crowning 
of  the  King  in  the  Cathedral  of  Rheims,  rather  than  those  of 
the  other  captains  ?" 

Then,  soft  and  low,  came  that  touching  speech  which  will 
'live  as  long  as  language  lives,  and  pass  into  all  tongues,  and 
move  all  gentle  hearts  wheresoever  it  shall  come,  down  to  the 
latest  day : 

"//  had  borne  the  burden,  it  had  earned  the  honor."  * 

*  What  she  said  has  been  many  times  translated,  but  never  with  success. 
There  is  a  haunting  pathos  about  the  original  which  eludes  all  efforts  to 
convey  it  into  our  tongue.  It  is  as  subtle  as  an  odor,  and  escapes  in 'the 
transmission.  Her  words  were  these  : 

"//  avait  tie  a  la  peine,  cetait  bien  raison  qtiil  fut  a  V  honneur" 
Monseigneur  Ricard,  Honorary  Vicar-General  to  the  Archbishop  of  Aix, 


How  simple  it  is,  and  how  beautiful.  And  how  it  beggars 
the  studied  eloquence  of  the  masters  of  oratory.  Eloquence 
was  a  native  gift  of  Joan  of  Arc;  it  came  from  her  lips  with 
out  effort  and  without  preparation.  Her  words  were  as  sub 
lime  as  her  deeds,  as  sublime  as  her  character  ;  they  had  their 
source  in  a  great  heart  and  were  coined  in  a  great  brain. 

finely  speaks  of  it  (""Jeanne  d"1  Arc  la  Venerable,"  page  197)  as  "  that 
sublime  reply,  enduring  in  the  history  of  celebrated  sayings  like  the  cry  of 
a  French  and  Christian  soul  wounded  unto  death  in  its  patriotism  and  its 
faith. " — TRANSLATOR. 


CHAPTER    XII 

Now  as  a  next  move,  this  small  secret  court  of  holy  assas 
sins  did  a  thing  so  base  that  even  at  this  day,  in  my  old  age, 
it  is  hard  to  speak  of  it  with  patience. 

In  the  beginning  of  her  commerce  with  her  Voices  there  at 
Domremy,  the  child  Joan  solemnly  devoted  her  life  to  God, 
vowing  her  pure  body  and  her  pure  soul  to  his  service.  You 
will  remember  that  her  parents  tried  to  stop  her  from  going 
to  the  wars  by  haling  her  to  the  court  at  Toul  to  compel  her 
to  make  a  marriage  which  she  had  never  promised  to  make — 
a  marriage  with  our  poor,  good,  windy,  big,  hard-fighting  and 
most  dear  and  lamented  comrade  the  Standard-bearer,  who 
fell  in  honorable  battle  and  sleeps  in  God  these  sixty  years, 
peace  to  his  ashes  !  And  you  will  remember  how  Joan,  six 
teen  years  old,  stood  up  in  that  venerable  court  and  conduct 
ed  her  case  all  by  herself,  and  tore  the  poor  Paladin's  case  to 
rags  and  blew  it  away  with  a  breath ;  and  how  the  astonished 
old  judge  on  the  bench  spoke  of  her  as  "this  marvellous 
child." 

You  remember  all  that.  Then  think  what  I  felt,  to  see 
these  false  priests  here  in  the  tribunal  wherein  Joan  had 
fought  a  fourth  lone  fight  in  three  years,  deliberately  twist 
that  matter  entirely  around  and  try  to  make  out  that  Joan 
haled  the  Paladin  into  court  and  pretended  that  he  had  prom 
ised  to  marry  her,  and  was  bent  on  making  him  do  it. 

Certainly  there  was  no  baseness  that  those  people  were 
ashamed  to  stoop  to  in  their  hunt  for  that  friendless  girl's 
life.  What  they  wanted  to  show  was  this — that  she  had  com 
mitted  the  sin  of  relapsing  from  her  vow  and  trying  to  vio 
late  it. 


Joan  detailed  the  true  history  of  the  case,  but  lost  her  tem 
per  as  she  went  along,  and  finished  with  some  words  for  Cau- 
chon  which  he  remembers  yet,  whether  he  is  fanning  himself 
in  the  world  he  belongs  in  OT  has  swindled  his  way  into  the 
other. 

The  rest  of  this  day  and  part  of  the  next  the  court  labored 
upon  the  old  theme — the  male  attire.  It  was  shabby  work  for 
those  grave  men  to  be  engaged  in  ;  for  they  well  knew  one  of 
Joan's  reasons  for  clinging  to  the  male  dress  was,  that  soldiers 
of  the  guard  were  always  present  in  her  room  whether  she 
was  asleep  or  awake,  and  that  the  male  dress  was  a  better 
protection  for  her  modesty  than  the  other. 

The  court  knew  that  one  of  Joan's  purposes  had  been  the 
deliverance  of  the  exiled  Duke  of  Orleans,  and  they  were  cu 
rious  to  know  how  she  had  intended  to  manage  it.  Her  plan 
was  characteristically  business-like,  and  her  statement  of  it 
as  characteristically  simple  and  straightforward  : 

"  I  would  have  taken  English  prisoners  enough  in  France 
for  his  ransom ;  and  failing  that,  I  would  have  invaded  Eng 
land  and  brought  him  out  by  force." 

That  was  just  her  way.  If  a  thing  was  to  be  done,  it  was 
love  first,  and  hammer  and  tongs  to  follow ;  but  no  shilly 
shallying  between.  She  added  with  a  little  sigh — 

"  If  I  had  had  my  freedom  three  years,  I  would  have  deliv 
ered  him." 

"  Have  you  the  permission  of  your  Voices  to  break  out  of 
prison  whenever  you  can  ?" 

"  I  have  asked  their  leave  several  times,  but  they  have  not 
given  it." 

I  think  it  is  as  I  have  said,  she  expected  the  deliverance  of 
death,  and  within  the  prison  walls,  before  the  three  months 
should  expire. 

"Would  you  escape  if  you  saw  the  doors  open?" 

She  spoke  up  frankly  and  said — 

"Yes — for  I  should  see  in  that  the  permission  of  Our  Lord. 
God  helps  who  help  themselves,  the  proverb  says.  But  ex 
cept  I  thought  I  had  permission,  I  would  not  go." 


Now,  then,  at  this  point,  something  occurred  which  con 
vinces  me,  every  time  I  think  of  it — and  it  struck  me  so  at 
the  time — that  for  a  moment,  at  least,  her  hopes  wandered  to 
the  King,  and  put  into  her  mind  the  same  notion  about  her 
deliverance  which  Noel  and  I  had  settled  upon — a  rescue  by 
her  old  soldiers.  I  think  the  idea  of  the  rescue  did  occur  to 
her,  but  only  as  a  passing  thought,  and  that  it  quickly  passed 
away. 

Some  remark  of  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais  moved  her  to  re 
mind  him  once  more  that  he  was  an  unfair  judge,  and  had  no 
right  to  preside  there,  and  that  he  was  putting  himself  in 
great  danger. 

"What  danger?"  he  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know.  St.  Catherine  has  promised  me  help,  but 
I  do  not  know  the  form  of  it.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am 
to  be  delivered  from  this  prison  or  whether  when  you  send  me 
to  the  scaffold  there  will  happen  a  trouble  by  which  I  shall  be 
set  free.  Without  much  thought  as  to  this  matter,  I  am  of 
the  opinion  that  it  may  be  one  or  the  other."  After  a  pause 
she  added  these  words,  memorable  forever  —  words  whose 
meaning  she  may  have  miscaught,  misunderstood,  as  to  that 
we  can  never  know ;  words  which  she  may  have  rightly  under 
stood  ;  as  to  that  also,  we  can  never  know ;  but  words  whose 
mystery  fell  away  from  them  many  a  year  ago  and  revealed 
their  real  meaning  to  all  the  world  : 

"  But  what  my  Voices  have  said  clearest  is,  that  I  shall  be 
delivered  by  a  great  victory''1  She  paused,  my  heart  was  beat 
ing  fast,  for  to  me  that  great  victory  meant  the  sudden  burst 
ing  in  of  our  old  soldiers  with  war-cry  and  clash  of  steel  at 
the  last  moment  and  the  carrying  off  of  Joan  of  Arc  in  tri 
umph.  But  oh,  that  thought  had  such  a  short  life  !  For  now 
she  raised  her  head  and  finished,  with  those  solemn  words 
which  men  still  so  often  quote  and  dwell  upon — words  which 
filled  me  with  fear,  they  sounded  so  like  a  prediction.  "And 
always  they  say  *  Submit  to  whatever  comes  ;  do  not  grieve  for 
your  martyrdom;  from  it  you  will  ascend  into  the  Kingdom  of 
Paradise.' " 
25 


386 


Was  she  thinking  of  fire  and  the  stake?  I  think  not.  I 
thought  of  it  myself,  but  I  believe  she  was  only  thinking  of 
this  slow  and  cruel  martyrdom  of  chains  and  captivity  and  in 
sult.  Surely  martyrdom  was  the  right  name  for  it. 

It  was  Jean  de  la  Fontaine  who  was  asking  the  questions. 
He  was  willing  to  make  the  most  he  could  out  of  what  she 
had  said : 

"  As  the  Voices  have  told  you  you  are  going  to  Paradise, 
you  feel  certain  that  that  will  happen  and  that  you  will  not  be 
damned  in  hell.  Is  that  so  ?" 

"  I  believe  what  they  told  me.  I  know  that  I  shall  be 
saved." 

"  It  is  a  weighty  answer." 

"To  me  the  knowledge  that  I  shall  be  saved  is  a  great 
treasure." 

"  Do  you  think  that  after  that  revelation  you  could  be  able 
to  commit  mortal  sin  ?" 

"As  to  that,  I  do  not  know.  My  hope  for  salvation  is  in 
holding  fast  to  my  oath  to  keep  my  body  and  my  soul  pure." 

"  Since  you  know  you  are  to  be  saved  do  you  think  it  nec 
essary  to  go  to  confession  ?" 

The  snare  was  ingeniously  devised,  but  Joan's  simple  and 
humble  answer  left  it  empty — 

"One  cannot  keep  his  conscience  too  clean." 

We  were  now  arriving  at  the  last  day  of  this  new  trial. 
Joan  had  come  through  the  ordeal  well.  It  had  been  a  long 
and  wearisome  struggle  for  all  concerned.  All  ways  had  been 
tried  to  convict  the  accused,  and  all  had  failed,  thus  far.  The 
inquisitors  were  thoroughly  vexed  and  dissatisfied.  How 
ever,  they  resolved  to  make  one  more  effort,  put  in  one  more 
day's  work.  This  was  done — March  iyth.  Early  in  the  sit 
ting  a  notable  trap  was  set  for  Joan : 

"Will  you  submit  to  the  determination  of  the  Church  all 
your  words  and  deeds,  whether  good  or  bad  ?" 

That  was  well  planned.  Joan  was  in  imminent  peril  now. 
If  she  should  heedlessly  say  yes,  it  would  put  her  mission 
tise/fupon  trial,  and  one  would  know  how  to  decide  its  source 


387 

and  character  promptly.  If  she  should  say  no,  she  would 
render  herself  chargeable  with  the  crime  of  heresy. 

But  she  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  She  drew  a  distinct 
line  of  separation  between  the  Church's  authority  over  her  as 
a  subject  member,  and  the  matter  of  her  mission.  She  said 
she  loved  the  Church  and  was  ready  to  support  the  Christian 
faith  with  all  her  strength ;  but  as  to  the  works  done  under 
her  mission,  those  must  be  judged  by  God  alone,  who  had 
commanded  them  to  be  done. 

The  judge  still  insisted  that  she  submit  them  to  the  deci 
sion  of  the  Church.  She  said — • 

"  I  will  submit  them  to  Our  Lord  who  sent  me.  It  would 
seem  to  me  that  He  and  His  Church  are  one,  and  that  there 
should  be  no  difficulty  about  this  matter."  Then  she  turned 
upon  the  judge  and  said,  "Why  do  you  make  a  difficulty 
where  there  is  no  room  for  any  ?" 

Then  Jean  de  la  Fontaine  corrected  her  notion  that  there 
was  but  one  Church.  There  were  two — the  Church  Trium 
phant,  which  is  God,  the  saints,  the  angels,  and  the  redeemed, 
and  has  its  seat  in  heaven  ;  and  the  Church  Militant,  which 
is  our  Holy  Father  the  Pope,  Vicar  of  God,  the  prelates,  the 
clergy  and  all  good  Christians  and  catholics,  the  which  Church 
has  its  seat  in  the  earth,  is  governed  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  and 
cannot  err.  "  Will  you  not  submit  those  matters  to  the 
Church  Militant  ?" 

"  I  am  come  to  the  King  of  France  from  the  Church  Tri 
umphant  on  high  by  its  commandant,  and  to  that  Church  I 
will  submit  all  those  things  which  I  have  done.  For  the 
Church  Militant  I  have  no  other  answer  now." 

The  court  took  note  of  this  straightly  worded  refusal,  and 
would  hope  to  get  profit  out  of  it ;  but  the  matter  was  dropped 
for  the  present,  and  a  long  chase  was  then  made  over  the  old 
hunting-ground — the  fairies,  the  visions,  the  male  attire,  and 
all  that. 

In  the  afternoon  the  satanic  Bishop  himself  took  the  chair 
and  presided  over  the  closing  scenes  of  the  trial.  Along  tow 
ard  the  finish,  this  question  was  asked  by  one  of  the  judges : 


388 

"  You  have  said  to  my  lord  the  Bishop  that  you  would  an 
swer  him  as  you  would  answer  before  our  Holy  Father  the 
Pope,  and  yet  there  are  several  questions  which  you  contin 
ually  refuse  to  answer.  Would  you  not  answer  the  Pope  more 
fully  than  you  have  answered  before  my  lord  of  Beauvais  ? 
Would  you  not  feel  obliged  to  answer  the  Pope,  who  is  the 
Vicar  of  God,  more  fully  ?" 

Now  fell  a  thunder-clap  out  of  a  clear  sky — 

"  Take  me  to  the  Pope.  I  will  answer  to  everything  that  I 
ought  to." 

It  made  the  Bishop's  purple  face  fairly  blanch  with  con 
sternation.  If  Joan  had  only  known,  if  she  had  only  known  ! 
She  had  lodged  a  mine  under  this  black  conspiracy  able  to 
blow  the  Bishop's  schemes  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  and 
she  didn't  know  it.  She  had  made  that  speech  by  mere  in 
stinct,  not  suspecting  what  tremendous  forces  were  hidden  in 
it,  and  there  was  none  to  tell  her  what  she  had  done.  I  knew, 
and  Manchon  knew ;  and  if  she  had  known  how  to  read  writ 
ing  we  could  have  hoped  to  get  the  knowledge  to  her  some 
how  ;  but  speech  was  the  only  way,  and  none  was  allowed  to 
approach  her  near  enough  for  that.  So  there  she  sat,  once 
more  Joan  of  Arc  the  Victorious,  but  all  unconscious  of  it. 
She  was  miserably  worn  and  tired,  by  the  long  day's  struggle 
and  by  illness,  or  she  must  have  noticed  the  effect  of  that 
speech  and  divined  the  reason  of  it. 

She  had  made  many  master-strokes,  but  this  was  the  master 
stroke.  It  was  an  appeal  to  Rome.  It  was  her  clear  right ; 
and  if  she  had  persisted  in  it  Cauchon's  plot  would  have 
tumbled  about  his  ears  like  a  house  of  cards,  and  he  would 
have  gone  from  that  place  the  worst  beaten  man  of  the 
century.  He  was  daring,  but  he  was  not  daring  enough  to 
stand  up  against  that  demand  if  Joan  had  urged  it.  But  no, 
she  was  ignorant,  poor  thing,  and  did  not  know  what  a  blow 
she  had  struck  for  life  and  liberty. 

France  was  not  the  Church.  Rome  had  no  interest  in  the 
destruction  of  this  messenger  of  God.  Rome  would  have 
given  her  a  fair  trial,  and  that  was  all  that  her  cause  needed. 


389 


From  that  trial  she  would  have  gone  forth  free  and  honored 
and  blest. 

But  it  was  not  so  fated.  Cauchon  at  once  diverted  the 
questions  to  other  matters  and  hurried  the  trial  quickly  to  an 
end. 

As  Joan  moved  feebly  away,  dragging  her  chains,  I  felt 
stunned  and  dazed,  and  kept  saying  to  myself,  "  Such  a  little 
while  ago  she  said  the  saving  word  and  could  have  gone  free  ; 
and  now,  there  she  goes  to  her  death ;  yes,  it  is  to  her  death, 
I  know  it,  I  feel  it.  They  will  double  the  guards ;  they  will 
never  let  any  come  near  her  now  between  this  and  her  con 
demnation,  lest  she  get  a  hint  and  speak  that  word  again. 
This  is  the  bitterest  day  that  has  come  to  me  in  all  this  mis 
erable  time." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

So  the  second  trial  in  the  prison  was  over.  Over,  and  no 
definite  result.  The  character  of  it  I  have  described  to  you. 
It  was  baser  in  one  particular  than  the  previous  one;  for  this 
time  the  charges  had  not  been  communicated  to  Joan,  there 
fore  she  had  been  obliged  to  fight  in  the  dark.  There  was 
no  opportunity  to  do  any  thinking  beforehand ;  there  was  no 
foreseeing  what  traps  might  be  set,  and  no  way  to  prepare  for 
them.  Truly  it  was  a  shabby  advantage  to  take  of  a  girl  sit 
uated  as  this  one  was.  One  day,  during  the  course  of  it,  an 
able  lawyer  of  Normandy,  Maitre  Lohier,  happened  to  be  in 
Rouen,  and  I  will  give  you  his  opinion  of  that  trial,  so  that 
you  may  see  that  I  have  been  honest  with  you,  and  that  my 
partisanship  has  not  made  me  deceive  you  as  to  its  unfair  and 
illegal  character.  Cauchon  showed  Lohier  the  proces  and 
asked  his  opinion  about  the  trial.  Now  this  was  the  opinion 
which  he  gave  to  Cauchon.  He  said  that  the  whole  thing 
was  null  and  void  ;  for  these  reasons  :  i,  because  the  trial 
was  secret,  and  full  freedom  of  speech  and  action  on  the  part 
of  those  present  not  possible ;  2,  because  the  trial  touched 
the  honor  of  the  King  of  France,  yet  he  was  not  summoned 
to  defend  himself,  nor  any  one  appointed  to  represent  him ; 
3,  because  the  charges  against  the  prisoner  were  not  com 
municated  to  her ;  4,  because  the  accused,  although  young 
and  simple,  had  been  forced  to  defend  her  cause  without  help 
of  counsel,  notwithstanding  she  had  so  much  at  stake. 

Did  that  please  Bishop  Cauchon  ?  It  did  not.  He  burst 
out  upon  Lohier  with  the  most  savage  cursings,  and  swore 
he  would  have  him  drowned.  Lohier  escaped  from  Rouen 
and  got  out  of  France  with  all  speed,  and  so  saved  his  life. 


Well,  as  I  have  said,  the  second  trial  was  over,  without 
definite  result.  But  Cauchon  did  not  give  up.  He  could 
trump  up  another.  And  still  another  and  another,  if  neces 
sary.  He  had  the  half-promise  of  an  enormous  prize— the 
Archbishopric  of  Rouen — if  he  should  succeed  in  burning  the 
body  and  damning  to  hell  the  soul  of  this  young  girl  who  had 
never  done  him  any  harm  ;  and  such  a  prize  as  that,  to  a 
man  like  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  was  worth  the  burning  and 
damning  of  fifty  harmless  girls,  let  alone  one. 

So  he  set  to  work  again  straight  off,  next  day;  and  with 
high  confidence,  too,  intimating  with  brutal  cheerfulness  that 
he  should  succeed  this  time.  It  took  him  and  the  other 
scavengers  nine  days  to  dig  matter  enough  out  of  Joan's  tes 
timony  and  their  own  inventions  to  build  up  the  new  mass  of 
charges.  And  it  was  a  formidable  mass  indeed,  for  it  num 
bered  sixty-six  articles ! 

This  huge  document  was  carried  to  the  castle  the  next  day, 
March  2yth ;  and  there,  before  a  dozen  carefully  selected 
judges,  the  new  trial  was  begun. 

Opinions  were  taken,  and  the  tribunal  decided  that  Joan 
should  hear  the  articles  read,  this  time.  Maybe  that  was  on 
account  of  Lohier's  remark  upon  that  head  ;  or  maybe  it  was 
hoped  that  the  reading  would  kill  the  prisoner  with  fatigue — 
for,  as  it  turned  out,  this  reading  occupied  several  days.  It 
was  also  decided  that  Joan  should  be  required  to  answer 
squarely  to  every  article,  and  that  if  she  refused  she  should 
be  considered  convicted.  You  see,  Cauchon  was  managing 
to  narrow  her  chances  more  and  more  all  the  time ;  he  was 
drawing  the  toils  closer  and  closer. 

Joan  was  brought  in,  and  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais  opened 
with  a  speech  to  her  which  ought  to  have  made  even  himself 
blush,  so  laden  it  was  with  hypocrisy  and  lies.  He  said  that 
this  court  was  composed  of  holy  and  pious  churchmen  whose 
hearts  were  full  of  benevolence  and  compassion  toward  her, 
and  that  they  had  no  wish  to  hurt  her  body,  but  only  a  desire 
to  instruct  her  and  lead  her  into  the  way  of  truth  and  salva 
tion. 


392 

Why,  this  man  was  born  a  devil ;  now  think  of  his  describ 
ing  himself  and  those  hardened  slaves  of  his  in  such  language 
as  that. 

And  yet,  worse  was  to  come.  For  now,  having  in  mind  an 
other  of  Lohier's  hints,  he  had  the  cold  effrontery  to  make  to 
Joan  a  proposition  which  I  think  will  surprise  you  when  you 
hear  it.  He  said  that  this  court,  recognizing  her  untaught 
estate  and  her  inability  to  deal  with  the  complex  and  difficult 
matters  which  were  about  to  be  considered,  had  determined, 
out  of  their  pity  and  their  mercifulness,  to  allow  her  to  choose 
one  or  more  persons  out  of  their  own  number  to  help  her  with 
counsel  and  advice  ! 

Think  of  that  —  a  court  made  up  of  Loyseleur  and  his 
breed  of  reptiles.  It  was  granting  leave  to  a  lamb  to  ask 
help  of  a  wolf.  Joan  looked  up  to  see  if  he  was  serious,  and 
perceiving  that  he  was  at  least  pretending  to  be,  she  declined, 
of  course. 

The  Bishop  was  not  expecting  any  other  reply.  He  had 
made  a  show  of  fairness  and  could  have  it  entered  on  the 
minutes,  therefore  he  was  satisfied. 

Then  he  commanded  Joan  to  answer  straightly  to  every 
accusation  ;  and  threatened  to  cut  her  off  from  the  Church 
if  she  failed  to  do  that  or  delayed  her  answers  beyond  a  given 
length  of  time.  Yes,  he  was  narrowing  her  chances  down, 
step  by  step. 

Thomas  de  Courcelles  began  the  reading  of  that  intermi 
nable  document,  article  by  article.  Joan  answered  to  each 
article  in  its  turn ;  sometimes  merely  denying  its  truth,  some 
times  by  saying  her  answer  would  be  found  in  the  records  of 
the  previous  trials. 

What  a  strange  document  that  was,  and  what  an  exhibition 

and  exposure  of  the  heart  of  man,  the  one  creature  authorized 

to  boast  that  he  is  made  in  the  image  of  God.    To  know  Joan 

»  of  Arc  was  to  know  one  who  was  wholly  noble,  pure,  truth- 

'  ful,  brave,  compassionate,  generous,  pious,  unselfish,  modest, 

blameless  as  the  very  flowers  in  the  fields — a  nature  fine  and 

beautiful,  a  character  supremely  great.     To  know  her  from 


393 


that  document  would  be  to  know  her  as  the  exact  reverse 
of  all  that.  Nothing  that  she  was  appears  in  it,  everything 
that  she  was  not  appears  there  in  detail. 

Consider  some  of  the  things  it  charges  against  her,  and  re 
member  who  it  is  it  is  speaking  of.  It  calls  her  a  sorceress, 
a  false  prophet,  an  invoker  and  companion  of  evil  spirits,  a 
dealer  in  magic,  a  person  ignorant  of  the  Catholic  faith,  a 
schismatic ;  she  is  sacrilegious,  an  idolater,  an  apostate,  a 
blasphemer  of  God  and  his  saints,  scandalous,  seditious,  a  dis 
turber  of  the  peace ;  she  incites  men  to  war,  and  to  the  spill 
ing  of  human  blood ;  she  discards  the  decencies  and  proprie 
ties  of  her  sex,  irreverently  assuming  the  dress  of  a  man  and 
the  vocation  of  a  soldier;  she  beguiles  both  princes  and  peo 
ple  ;  she  usurps  divine  honors,  and  has  caused  herself  to  be 
adored  and  venerated,  offering  her  hands  and  her  vestments 
to  be  kissed. 

There  it  is — every  fact  of  her  life  distorted,  perverted,  re 
versed.  As  a  child  she  had  loved  the  fairies,  she  had  spoken 
a  pitying  word  for  them  when  they  were  banished  from  their 
home,  she  had  played  under  their  tree  and  around  their  foun 
tain — hence  she  was  a  comrade  of  evil  spirits.  She  had  lifted 
France  out  of  the  mud  and  moved  her  to  strike  for  freedom, 
and  led  her  to  victory  after  victory — hence  she  was  a  dis 
turber  of  the  peace — as  indeed  she  was,  and  a  provoker  of 
war — as  indeed  she  was  again  !  and  France  will  be  proud  of 
it  and  grateful  for  it  for  many  a  century  to  come.  And  she 
had  been  adored — as  if  she  could  help  that,  poor  thing,  or  was 
in  any  way  to  blame  for  it.  The  cowed  veteran  and  the  wa 
vering  recruit  had  drunk  the  spirit  of  war  from  her  eyes  and 
touched  her  sword  with  theirs  and  moved  forward  invincible 
— hence  she  was  a  sorceress. 

And  so  the  document  went  on,  detail  by  detail,  turning 
these  waters  of  life  to  poison,  this  gold  to  dross,  these  proofs 
of  a  noble  and  beautiful  life  to  evidences  of  a  foul  and  odious 
one. 

Of  course  the  sixty-six  articles  were  just  a  rehash  of  the 
things  which  had  come  up  in  the  course  of  the  previous  trials, 


394 

so  I  will  touch  upon  this  new  trial  but  lightly.  In  fact  Joan 
went  but  little  into  detail  herself,  usually  merely  saying  "That 
is  not  tru&—passez  outre'''1;  or,  "I  have  answered  that  before 
— let  the  clerk  read  it  in  his  record",  or  saying  some  other 
brief  thing. 

She  refused  to  have  her  mission  examined  and  tried  by  the 
earthly  Church.  The  refusal  was  taken  note  of. 

She  denied  the  accusation  of  idolatry  and  that  she  had 
sought  men's  homage.  She  said — 

"  If  any  kissed  my  hands  and  my  vestments  it  was  not  by 
my  desire,  and  I  did  what  I  could  to  prevent  it." 

She  had  the  pluck  to  say  to  that  deadly  tribunal  that  she 
did  not  know  the  fairies  to  be  evil  beings.  She  knew  it  was  a 
perilous  thing  to  say,  but  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  speak 
anything  but  the  truth  when  she  spoke  at  all.  Danger  had 
no  weight  with  her  in  such  things.  Note  was  taken  of  her 
remark. 

She  refused,  as  always  before,  when  asked  if  she  would  put 
off  the  male  attire  if  she  were  given  permission  to  commune. 
And  she  added  this  : 

"  When  one  receives  the  sacrament,  the  manner  of  his 
dress  is  a  small  thing  and  of  no  value  in  the  eyes  of  Our 
Lord." 

She  was  charged  with  being  so  stubborn  in  clinging  to  her 
male  dress  that  she  would  not  lay  it  off  even  to  get  the  blessed 
privilege  of  hearing  mass.  She  spoke  out  with  spirit  and 
said : 

"  I  would  rather  die  than  be  untrue  to  my  oath  to  God." 

She  was  reproached  with  doing  man's  work  in  the  wars  and 
thus  deserting  the  industries  proper  to  her  sex.  She  answered, 
with  some  little  touch  of  soldierly  disdain — 

"As  to  the  matter  of  women's  work,  there's  plenty  to 
do  it." 

It  was  always  a  comfort  to  me  to  see  the  soldier-spirit  crop 
up  in  her.  While  that  remained  in  her  she  would  be  Joan  of 
Arc,  and  able  to  look  trouble  and  fate  in  the  face. 

"  It  appears  that  this  mission  of  yours  which  you  claim 


395 


you  had  from  God,  was  to  make  war  and  pour  out  human 
blood." 

Joan  replied  quite  simply,  contenting  herself  with  explain 
ing  that  war  was  not  her  first  move,  but  her  second : 

"To  begin  with,  I  demanded  that  peace  should  be  made. 
If  it  was  refused,  then  I  would  fight." 

The  judge  mixed  the  Burgundians  and  English  together  in 
speaking  of  the  enemy  which  Joan  had  come  to  make  war 
upon.  But  she  showed  that  she  made  a  distinction  between 
them  by  act  and  word,  the  Burgundians  being  Frenchmen  and 
therefore  entitled  to  less  brusque  treatment  than  the  English. 
She  said  : 

"  As  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  I  required  of  him,  both  by 
letters  and  by  his  .ambassadors,  that  he  make  peace  with  the 
King.  As  to  the  English,  the  only  peace  for  them  was  that 
they  leave  the  country  and  go  home." 

Then  she  said  that  even  with  the  English  she  had  shown  a 
pacific  disposition,  since  she  had  warned  them  away  by  proc 
lamation  before  attacking  them. 

"  If  they  had  listened  to  me,"  said  she,  "  they  would  have 
done  wisely."  At  this  point  she  uttered  her  prophecy  again, 
saying  with  emphasis,  "  Before  seven  years  they  will  see  it 
themselves." 

Then  they  presently  began  to  pester  her  again  about  her 
male  costume,  and  tried  to  persuade  her  to  voluntarily  prom 
ise  to  discard  it.  I  was  never  deep,  so  I  think  it  no  wonder 
that  I  was  puzzled  by  their  persistency  in  what  seemed  a 
thing  of  no  consequence,  and  could  not  make  out  what  their 
reason  could  be.  But  we  all  know,  now.  We  all  know  now 
that  it  was  another  of  their  treacherous  projects.  Yes,  if  they 
could  but  succeed  in  getting  her  to  formally  discard  it  they 
could  play  a  game  upon  her  which  would  quickly  destroy  her. 
So  they  kept  at  their  evil  work  until  at  last  she  broke  out  and 
said — 

"Peace!  Without  the  permission  of  God  I  will  not  lay  it 
off  though  you  cut  off  my  head  !" 

At  one  point  she  corrected  the /raw  verbal,  saying — 


396 


"  It  makes  me  say  that  everything  which  I  have  done  was 
done  by  the  counsel  of  Our  Lord.  I  did  not  say  that.  I  said 
'all  which  I  have  well  done.'  " 

Doubt  was  cast  upon  the  authenticity  of  her  mission  be 
cause  of  the  ignorance  and  simplicity  of  the  messenger  chosen. 
Joan  smiled  at  that.  She  could  have  reminded  these  people 
that  Our  Lord,  who  is  no  respecter  of  persons,  had  chosen  the 
lowly  for  his  high  purposes  even  oftener  than  he  had  chosen 
bishops  and  cardinals  ;  but  she  phrased  her  rebuke  in  simpler 
terms  : 

"  It  is  the  prerogative  of  Our  Lord  to  choose  His  instru 
ments  where  He  will." 

She  was  asked  what  form  of  prayer  she  used  in  invoking 
counsel  from  on  high.  She  said  the  form  was  brief  and  sim 
ple  ;  then  she  lifted  her  pallid  face  and  repeated  it,  clasping 
her  chained  hands  : 

"  Most  dear  God,  in  honor  of  your  holy  passion  I  beseech 
you,  if  you  love  me,  that  you  will  reveal  to  me  what  I  am  to 
answer  to  these  churchmen.  As  concerns  my  dress,  I  know 
by  what  command  I  have  put  it  on,  but  I  know  not  in  what 
manner  I  am  to  lay  it  off.  I  pray  you  tell  me  what  to  do." 

She  was  charged  with  having  dared,  against  the  precepts  of 
God  and  His  saints,  to  assume  empire  over  men  and  make 
herself  Commander-in-Chief.  That  touched  the  soldier  in  her. 
She  had  a  deep  reverence  for  priests,  but  the  soldier  in  her 
had  but  small  reverence  for  a  priest's  opinions  about  war ; 
so,  in  her  answer  to  this  charge  she  did  not  condescend  to  go 
into  any  explanations  or  excuses,  but  delivered  herself  with 
bland  indifference  and  military  brevity. 

"  If  I  was  Commander-in-Chief,  it  was  to  thrash  the  Eng 
lish!" 

Death  was  staring  her  in  the  face  here,  all  the  time,  but  no 
matter :  she  dearly  loved  to  make  these  English  -  hearted 
Frenchmen  squirm,  and  whenever  they  gave  her  an  opening 
she  was  prompt  to  jab  her  sting  into  it.  She  got  great  re 
freshment  out  of  these  little  episodes.  Her  days  were  a  des 
ert  ;  these  were  the  oases  in  it. 


397 

Her  being  in  the  wars  with  men  was  charged  against  her 
as  an  indelicacy.  She  said — 

"  I  had  a  woman  with  me  when  I  could — in  towns  and  lodg 
ings.  In  the  field  I  always  slept  in  my  armor." 

That  she  and  her  family  had  been  ennobled  by  the  King 
was  charged  against  her  as  evidence  that  the  source  of  her 
deeds  were  sordid  self-seeking.  She  answered  that  she  had 
not  asked  this  grace  of  the  King,  it  was  his  own  act. 

This  third  trial  was  ended  at  last.  And  once  again  there 
was  no  definite  result. 

Possibly  a  fourth  trial  might  succeed  in  defeating  this  ap 
parently  unconquerable  girl.  So  the  malignant  Bishop  set 
himself  to  work  to  plan  it. 

He  appointed  a  commission  to  reduce  the  substance  of 
the  sixty -six  articles  to  twelve  compact  lies,  as  a  basis 
for  the  new  attempt.  This  was  done.  It  took  several 
days. 

Meantime  Cauchon  went  to  Joan's  cell  one  day,  with  Man- 
chon  and  two  of  the  judges,  Isambard  de  la  Pierre  and  Martin 
Ladvenue,  to  see  if  he  could  not  manage  somehow  to  beguile 
Joan  into  submitting  her  mission  to  the  examination  and 
decision  of  the  church  militant — that  is  to  say,  to  that  part 
of  the  church  militant  which  was  represented  by  himself  and 
his  creatures. 

Joan  once  more  positively  refused.  Isambard  de  la  Pierre 
had  a  heart  in  his  body,  and  he  so  pitied  this  persecuted 
poor  girl  that  he  ventured  to  do  a  very  daring  thing;  for  he 
asked  her  if  she  would  be  willing  to  have  her  case  go  before 
the  Council  of  Basel,  and  said  it  contained  as  many  priests  of 
her  party  as  of  the  English  party. 

Joan  cried  out  that  she  would  gladly  go  before  so  fairly 
constructed  a  tribunal  as  that;  but  before  Isambard  could 
say  another  word,  Cauchon  turned  savagely  upon  him  and 
exclaimed — 

"  Shut  up,  in  the  devil's  name  !" 

Then  Manchon  ventured  to  do  a  brave  thing,  too,  though 
he  did  it  in  great  fear  for  his  life.  He  asked  Cauchon  if  he 


398 

should  enter  Joan's  submission  to  the  Council  of  Basel  upon 
the  minutes. 

"  No  !     It  is  not  necessary." 

"  Ah,"  said  poor  Joan,  reproachfully,  "  you  set  down  every 
thing  that  is  against  me,  but  you  will  not  set  down  what  is 
for  me." 

It  was  piteous.  It  would  have  touched  the  heart  of  a  brute. 
But  Cauchon  was  more  than  that. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

WE  were  now  in  the  first  days  of  April.  Joan  was  ill. 
She  had  fallen  ill  the  2gth  of  March,  the  day  after  the  close 
of  the  third  trial,  and  was  growing  worse  when  the  scene 
which  I  have  just  described  occurred  in  her  cell.  It  was  just 
like  Cauchon  to  go  there  and  try  to  get  some  advantage  out 
of  her  weakened  state. 

Let  us  note  some  of  the  particulars  in  the  new  indictment — 
the  Twelve  Lies. 

Part  of  the  first  one  says  Joan  asserts  that  she  has  found 
her  salvation.  She  never  said  anything  of  the  kind.  It  also 
says  she  refuses  to  submit  herself  to  the  Church.  Not  true. 
She  was  willing  to  submit  all  her  acts  to  this  Rouen  tribunal 
except  those  done  by  command  of  God  in  fulfilment  of  her 
mission.  Those  she  reserved  for  the  judgment  of  God.  She 
refused  to  recognize  Cauchon  and  his  serfs  as  the  Church, 
but  was  willing  to  go  before  the  Pope  or  the  Council  of 
Basel. 

A  clause  of  another  of  the  Twelve  says  she  admits  having 
threatened  with  death  those  who  would  not  obey  her.  Dis 
tinctly  false.  Another  clause  says  she  declares  that  all  she 
has  done  has  been  done  by  command  of  God.  What  she 
really  said  was,  all  that  she  had  done  well — a  correction  made 
by  herself  as  you  have  already  seen. 

Another  of  the  Twelve  says  she  claims  that  she  has  never 
committed  any  sin.  She  never  made  any  such  claim. 

Another  makes  the  wearing  of  the  male  dress  a  sin.  If  it 
was,  she  had  high  Catholic  authority  for  committing  it — 
that  of  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims  and  the  tribunal  of  Poitiers. 

The  Tenth  Article  was  resentful  against  her  for  "pretend- 


400 

ing"  that  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Marguerite  spoke  French  and 
not  English,  and  were  French  in  their  politics. 

The  Twelve  were  to  be  submitted  first  to  the  learned  doc 
tors  of  theology  of  the  University  of  Paris  for  approval. 
They  were  copied  out  and  ready  by  the  night  of  April  4th. 
Then  Manchon  did  another  bold  thing:  he  wrote  in  the  mar 
gin  that  many  of  the  Twelve  put  statements  in  Joan's  mouth 
which  were  the  exact  opposite  of  what  she  had  said.  That 
fact  would  not  be  considered  important  by  the  University  of 
Paris,  and  would  not  influence  its  decision  or  stir  its  human 
ity,  in  case  it  had  any — which  it  hadn't  when  acting  in  a  po 
litical  capacity,  as  at  present — but  it  was  a  brave  thing  for 
that  good  Manchon  to  do,  all  the  same. 

The  Twelve  were  sent  to  Paris  next  day,  April  5th.  That 
afternoon  there  was  a  great  tumult  in  Rouen,  and  excited 
crowds  were  flocking  through  all  the  chief  streets,  chattering 
and  seeking  for  news;  for  a  report  had  gone  abroad  that  Joan 
of  Arc  was  sick  unto  death.  In  truth  these  long  seances  had 
worn  her  out,  and  she  was  ill  indeed.  The  heads  of  the  Eng 
lish  party  were  in  a  state  of  consternation  ;  for  if  Joan  should 
die  uncondemned  by  the  Church  and  go  to  the  grave  un- 
smirched,  the  pity  and  the  love  of  the  people  would  turn  her 
wrongs  and  sufferings  and  death  into  a  holy  martyrdom,  and 
she  would  be  even  a  mightier  power  in  France  dead,  than  she 
had  been  when  alive. 

The  Earl  of  Warwick  and  the  English  Cardinal  (Winches 
ter)  hurried  to  the  castle  and  sent  messengers  flying  for 
physicians.  Warwick  was  a  hard  man,  a  rude  coarse  man,  a 
man  without  compassion.  There  lay  the  sick  girl  stretched 
in  her  chains  in  her  iron  cage — not  an  object  to  move  man  to 
ungentle  speech,  one  would  think  ;  yet  Warwick  spoke  right 
out  in  her  hearing  and  said  to  the  physicians — 

"  Mind  you  take  good  care  of  her.  The  King  of  England 
has  no  mind  to  have  her  die  a  natural  death.  She  is  dear  to 
him,  for  he  bought  her  dear,  and  he  does  not  want  her  to  die, 
save  at  the  stake.  Now  then,  mind  you  cure  her." 

The  doctors  asked  Joan  what  had  made  her  ill.     She  said 


401 


the  Bishop  of  Beauvais  had  sent  her  a  fish  and  she  thought  it 
was  that. 

Then  Jean  d'Estivet  burst  out  on  her,  and  called  her 
names  and  abused  her.  He  understood  Joan  to  be  charging 
the  Bishop  with  poisoning  her,  you  see ;  and  that  was  not 
pleasing  to  him,  for  he  was  one  of  Cauchon's  most  loving  and 
conscienceless  slaves,  and  it  outraged  him  to  have  Joan  injure 
his  master  in  the  eyes  of  these  great  English  chiefs,  these 
being  men  who  could  ruin  Cauchon  and  would  promptly  do  it 
if  they  got  the  conviction  that  he  was  capable  of  saving  Joan 
from  the  stake  by  poisoning  her  and  thus  cheating  the  Eng 
lish  out  of  all  the  real  value  gainable  by  her  purchase  from  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy. 

Joan  had  a  high  fever,  and  the  doctors  proposed  to  bleed 
her.  Warwick  said — 

"  Be  careful  about  that ;  she  is  smart  and  is  capable  of  kill 
ing  herself." 

He  meant  that  to  escape  the  stake  she  might  undo  the 
bandage  and  let  herself  bleed  to  death. 

But  the  doctors  bled  her  anyway,  and  then  she  was  better. 

Not  for  long,  though.  Jean  d'Estivet  could  not  hold  still, 
he  was  so  worried  and  angry  about  the  suspicion  of  poisoning 
which  Joan  had  hinted  at ;  so  he  came  back  in  the  evening 
and  stormed  at  her  till  he  brought  the  fever  all  back  again. 

When  Warwick  heard  of  this  he  was  in  a  fine  temper,  you 
may  be  sure,  for  here  was  his  prey  threatening  to  escape 
again,  and  all  through  the  over-zeal  of  this  meddling  fool. 
Warwick  gave  D'Estivet  a  quite  admirable  cursing — admirable 
as  to  strength,  I  mean,  for  it  was  said  by  persons  of  culture 
that  the  art  of  it  was  not  good — and  after  that  the  meddler 
kept  still. 

Joan  remained  ill  more  than  two  weeks  ;  then  she  grew 
better.  She  was  still  very  weak,  but  she  could  bear  a  lit 
tle  persecution  now  without  much  danger  to  her  life.  It 
seemed  to  Cauchon  a  good  time  to  furnish  it.  So  he  called 
together  some  of  his  doctors  of  theology  and  went  to  her  dun 
geon.  Manchon  and  I  went  along  to  keep  the  record — that 
26 


402 


is,  to  set  down  what  might  be  useful  to  Cauchon,  and  leave 
out  the  rest. 

The  sight  of  Joan  gave  me  a  shock.  Why,  she  was  but  a 
shadow !  It  was  difficult  for  me  to  realize  that  this  frail  little 
creature  with  the  sad  face  and  drooping  form  was  the  same 
Joan  of  Arc  that  I  had  so  often  seen,  all  fire  and  enthusiasm, 
charging  through  a  hail  of  death  and  the  lightning  and  thun 
der  of  the  guns  at  the  head  of  her  battalions.  It  wrung  my 
heart  to  see  her  looking  like  this. 

But  Cauchon  was  not  touched.  He  made  another  of  those 
conscienceless  speeches  of  his,  all  dripping  with  hypocrisy  and 
guile.  He  told  Joan  that  among  her  answers  had  been  some 
which  had  seemed  to  endanger  religion  ;  and  as  she  was  ig 
norant  and  without  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures,  he  had 
brought  some  good  and  wise  men  to  instruct  her,  if  she  de 
sired  it.  Said  he,  "  We  are  churchmen,  and  disposed  by  our 
good  will  as  well  as  by  our  vocation  to  procure  for  you  the 
salvation  of  your  soul  and  your  body,  in  every  way  in  our 
power,  just  as  we  would  do  the  like  for  our  nearest  kin  or  for 
ourselves.  In  this  we  but  follow  the  example  of  Holy  Church, 
who  never  closes  the  refuge  of  her  bosom  against  any  that  are 
willing  to  return." 

Joan  thanked  him  for  these  sayings  and  said  : 

"  I  seem  to  be  in  danger  of  death  from  this  malady ;  if  it 
be  the  pleasure  of  God  that  I  die  here,  I  beg  that  I  may  be 
heard  in  confession  and  also  receive  my  Saviour ;  and  that  I 
may  be  buried  in  consecrated  ground." 

Cauchon  thought  he  saw  his  opportunity  at  last ;  this  weak 
ened  body  had  the  fear  of  an  unblessed  death  before  it  and 
the  pains  of  hell  to  follow.  This  stubborn  spirit  would  sur 
render  now.  So  he  spoke  out  and  said — 

"  Then  if  you  want  the  Sacraments,  you  must  do  as  all  good 
Catholics  do,  and  submit  to  the  Church. '; 

He  was  eager  for  her  answer ;  but  when  it  came  there  was 
no  surrender  in  it,  she  still  stood  to  her  guns.  She  turned 
her  head  away  and  said  wearily — 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 


Cauchon's  temper  was  stirred,  and  he  raised  his  voice  threat 
eningly  and  said  that  the  more  she  was  in  danger  of  death  the 
more  she  ought  to  amend  her  life ;  and  again  he  refused  the 
things  she  begged  for  unless  she  would  submit  to  the  Church. 
Joan  said — 

"  If  I  die  in  this  prison  I  beg  you  to  have  me  buried  in 
holy  ground  ;  if  you  will  not,  I  cast  myself  upon  my  Saviour." 

There  was  some  more  conversation  of  the  like  sort,  then 
'  Cauchon  demanded  again,  and  imperiously,  that  she  submit 
^herself  and  all  her  deeds  to  the  Church.  His  threatening  and 
storming  went  for  nothing.  That  body  was  weak,  but  the 
spirit  in  it  was  the  spirit  of  Joan  of  Arc;  and  out  of  that  came 
the  steadfast  answer  which  these  people  were  already  so  fa 
miliar  with  and  detested  so  sincerely — 

"  Let  come  what  may,  I  will  neither  do  nor  say  any  other 
wise  than  I  have  said  already  in  your  tribunals." 

Then  the  good  theologians  took  turn  about  and  worried  her 
with  reasonings  and  arguments  and  Scriptures  ;  and  always 
they  held  the  lure  of  the  Sacraments  before  her  famishing  soul, 
and  tried  to  bribe  her  with  them  to  surrender  her  mission  to 
the  Church's  judgment — that  is  to  their  judgment — as  if  they 
were  the  Church  !  But  it  availed  nothing.  I  could  have  told 
them  that  beforehand,  if  they  had  asked  me.  But  they  never 
asked  me  anything ;  I  was  too  humble  a  creature  for  their  no 
tice. 

Then  the  interview  closed  with  a  threat ;  a  threat  of  fear 
ful  import ;  a  threat  calculated  to  make  a  Catholic  Christian 
feel  as  if  the  ground  were  sinking  from  under  him — 

"The  Church  calls  upon  you  to  submit;  disobey,  and  she 
will  abandon  you  as  if  you  were  a  pagan  !" 

Think  of  being  abandoned  by  the  Church  ! — that  august 
Power  in  whose  hands  is  lodged  the  fate  of  the  human  race  ; 
whose  sceptre  stretches  beyond  the  furthest  constellation  that 
twinkles  in  the  sky  ;  whose  authority  is  over  the  millions  that 
live  and  over  the  billions  that  wait  trembling  in  purgatory  for 
ransom  or  doom  ;  whose  smile  opens  the  gates  of  Heaven  to 
you,  whose  frown  delivers  you  to  the  fires  of  everlasting  hell ; 


404 

a  Power  whose  dominion  overshadows  and  belittles  earthly 
empire  as  earthly  empire  overshadows  and  belittles  the  pomps 
and  shows  of  a  village.  To  be  abandoned  by  one's  King- 
yes,  that  is  death,  and  death  is  much ;  but  to  be  abandoned 
by  Rome,  to  be  abandoned  by  the  Church !  Ah,  death  is 
nothing  to  that,  for  that  is  consignment  to  endless  life — and 
such  a  life  ! 

I  could  see  the  red  waves  tossing  in  that  shoreless  lake  of 
fire,  I  could  see  the  black  myriads  of  the  damned  rise  out  of 
them  and  struggle  and  sink  and  rise  again  ;  and  I  knew  that 
Joan  was  seeing  what  I  saw,  while  she  paused  musing ;  and 
I  believed  that  she  must  yield  now,  and  in  truth  I  hoped  she 
would,  for  these  men  were  able  to  make  the  threat  good  and 
deliver  her  over  to  eternal  suffering,  and  I  knew  that  it  was  in 
their  natures  to  do  it. 

But  I  was  foolish  to  think  that  thought  and  hope  that  hope. 
Joan  of  Arc  was  not  made  as  others  are  made.  Fidelity  to 
principle,  fidelity  to  truth,  fidelity  to  her  word,  all  these  were 
in  her  bone  and  in  her  flesh — they  were  parts  of  her.  She 
could  not' change,  she  could  not  cast  them  out.  She  was  the 
very  genius  of  Fidelity,  she  was  Steadfastness  incarnated. 
Where  she  had  taken  her  stand  and  planted  her  foot,  there 
she  would  abide ;  hell  itself  could  not  move  her  from  that 
place. 

Her  Voices  had  not  given  her  permission  to  make  the  sort 
of  submission  that  was  required,  therefore  she  would  stand 
fast.  She  would  wait,  in  perfect  obedience,  let  come  what 
might. 

My  heart  was  like  lead  in  my  body  when  I  went  out  from 
that  dungeon  ;  but  she — she  was  serene,  she  was  not  troubled. 
She  had  done  what  she  believed  to  be  her  duty,  and  that  was 
sufficient;  the  consequences  were  not  her  affair.  The  last 
thing  she  said,  that  time,  was  full  of  this  serenity,  full  of  con 
tented  repose — 

"  I  am  a  good  Christian  born  and  baptized,  and  a  good 
Christian  I  will  die." 


CHAPTER   XV 

Two  weeks  went  by;  the  second  of  May  was  come,  the  chill 
was  departed  out  of  the  air,  the  wild  flowers  were  springing 
in  the  glades  and  glens,  the  birds  were  piping  in  the  woods, 
all  nature  was  brilliant  with  sunshine,  all  spirits  were  renewed 
and  refreshed,  all  hearts  glad,  the  world  was  alive  with  hope 
and  cheer,  the  plain  beyond  the  Seine  stretched  away  soft  and 
rich  and  green,  the  river  was  limpid  and  lovely,  the  leafy  isl 
ands  were  dainty  to  see,  and  flung  still  daintier  reflections  of 
themselves  upon  the  shining  water ;  and  from  the  tall  bluffs 
above  the  bridge  Rouen  was  become  again  a  delight  to  the 
eye,  the  most  exquisite  and  satisfying  picture  of  a  town  that 
nestles  under  the  arch  of  heaven  anywhere. 

When  I  say  that  all  hearts  were  glad  and  hopeful,  I  mean 
it  in  a  general  sense.  There  were  exceptions — we  who  were 
the  friends  of  Joan  of  Arc,  also  Joan  of  Arc  herself,  that  poor 
girl  shut  up  there  in  that  frowning  stretch  of  mighty  walls  and 
towers :  brooding  in  darkness,  so  close  to  the  flooding  down 
pour  of  sunshine  yet  so  impossibly  far  away  from  it ;  so  long 
ing  for  any  little  glimpse  of  it,  yet  so  implacably  denied  it  by 
those  wolves  in  the  black  gowns  who  were  plotting  her  death 
and  the  blackening  of  her  good  name. 

Cauchon  was  ready  to  go  on  with  his  miserable  work.  He 
had  a  new  scheme  to  try,  now.  He  would  see  what  persuasion 
could  do — argument,  eloquence,  poured  out  upon  the  incorri 
gible  captive  from  the  mouth  of  a  trained  expert.  That  was 
his  plan.  But  the  reading  of  the  Twelve  Articles  to  her  was 
not  a  part  of  it.  No,  even  Cauchon  was  ashamed  to  lay  that 
monstrosity  before  her ;  even  he  had  a  remnant  of  shame  in 
him,  away  down  deep,  a  million  fathoms  deep,  and  that  rem 
nant  asserted  itself  now  and  prevailed. 


406 

On  this  fair  second  of  May,  then,  the  black  company  gathered 
itself  together  in  the  spacious  chamber  at  the  end  of  the  great 
hall  of  the  castle — the  Bishop  of  Beauvais  on  his  throne,  and 
sixty-two  minor  judges  massed  before  him,  with  the  guards 
and  recorders  at  their  stations  and  the  orator  at  his  desk. 

Then  we  heard  the  far  clank  of  chains,  and  presently  Joan 
entered  with  her  keepers  and  took  her  seat  upon  her  isolated 
bench.  She  was  looking  well,  now,  and  most  fair  and  beauti 
ful  after  her  fortnight's  rest  from  wordy  persecution. 

She  glanced  about  and  noted  the  orator.  Doubtless  she 
divined  the  situation. 

The  orator  had  written  his  speech  all  out,  and  had  it  in  his 
hand,  though  he  held  it  back  of  him  out  of  sight.  It  was  so 
thick  that  it  resembled  a  book.  He  began  flowingly,  but  in 
the  midst  of  a  flowery  period  his  memory  failed  him  and  he 
had  to  snatch  a  furtive  glance  at  his  manuscript — which  much 
injured  the  effect.  Again  this  happened,  and  then  a  third 
time.  The  poor  man's  face  was  red  with  embarrassment,  the 
whole  great  house  was  pitying  him,  which  made  the  matter 
worse ;  then  Joan  dropped  in  a  remark  which  completed  his 
trouble.  She  said : 

"  Read  your  book — and  then  I  will  answer  you  !" 

Why,  it  was  almost  cruel  the  way  those  mouldy  veterans 
laughed ;  and  as  for  the  orator,  he  looked  so  flustered  and 
helpless  that  almost  anybody  would  have  pitied  him,  and  I 
had  difficulty  to  keep  from  doing  it  myself.  Yes,  Joan  was 
feeling  very  well  after  her  rest,  and  the  native  mischief  that 
was  in  her  lay  near  the  surface.  It  did  not  show,  when  she 
made  the  remark,  but  I  knew  it  was  close  in  there  back  of  the 
words. 

When  the  orator  had  gotten  back  his  composure  he  did  a 
wise  thing;  for  he  followed  Joan's  advice  :  he  made  no  more 
attempts  at  sham  impromptu  oratory,  but  read  his  speech 
straight  from  his  "book."  In  the  speech  he  compressed  the 
Twelve  Articles  into  six  and  made  these  his  text. 

Every  now  and  then  he  stopped  and  asked  questions,  and 
Joan  replied.  The  nature  of  the  church  militant  was  ex- 


407 


plained,  and  once  more  Joan  was  asked  to  submit  herself 
to  it. 

She  gave  her  usual  answer. 

Then  she  was  asked — 

"  Do  you  believe  the  Church  can  err  ?" 

"  I  believe  it  cannot  err ;  but  for  those  deeds  and  words  of 
mine  which  were  done  and  uttered  by  command  of  God,  I  will 
answer  to  him  alone." 

"  Will  you  say  that  you  have  no  judge  upon  earth  ?  Is  not 
our  Holy  Father  the  Pope  your  judge  ?" 

"  I  will  say  nothing  to  you  about  it.  I  have  a  good  Master 
who  is  our  Lord  and  to  Him  I  will  submit  all." 

Then  came  these  terrible  words  : 

"  If  you  do  not  submit  to  the  Church  you  will  be  pro 
nounced  a  heretic  by  these  judges  here  present  and  burned  at 
the  stake !" 

Ah,  that  would  have  smitten  you  or  me  dead  with  fright, 
but  it  only  roused  the  lion  heart  of  Joan  of  Arc,  and  in  her 
answer  rang  that  martial  note  which  had  used  to  stir  her  sol 
diers  like  a  bugle-call — 

"  I  will  not  say  otherwise  than  I  have  said  already;  and  if 
I  saw  the  fire  before  me  I  would  say  it  again  !" 

It  was  uplifting  to  hear  her  battle-voice  once  more  and  see 
the  battle-light  burn  in  her  eye.  Many  there  were  stirred ; 
every  man  that  was  a  man  was  stirred,  whether  friend  or  foe  ; 
and  Manchon  risked  his  life  again,  good  soul,  for  he  wrote  in 
the  margin  of  the  record  in  good  plain  letters  these  brave 
words  :  "  Supcrba  responsio  /"  and  there  they  have  remained 
these  sixty  years,  and  there  you  may  read  them  to  this  day. 

"  Superba  responsio /"  Yes,  it  was  just  that.  For  this  "su 
perb  answer  "  came  from  the  lips  of  a  girl  of  nineteen  with 
death  and  hell  staring  her  in  the  face. 

Of  course  the  matter  of  the  male  attire  was  gone  over 
again ;  and  as  usual  at  wearisome  length  ;  also,  as  usual,  the 
customary  bribe  was  offered :  if  she  would  discard  that  dress 
voluntarily  they  would  let  her  hear  mass.  But  she  answered 
as  she  had  often  answered  before — 


408 

"  I  will  go  in  a  woman's  robe  to  all  services  of  the  church 
if  I  may  be  permitted,  but  I  will  resume  the  other  dress  when 
I  return  to  my  cell." 

They  set  several  traps  for  her  in  a  tentative  form ;  that  is 
to  say,  they  placed  supposititious  propositions  before  her  and 
cunningly  tried  to  commit  her  to  one  end  of  the  propositions 
without  committing  themselves  to  the  other.  But  she  always 
saw  the  game  and  spoiled  it.  The  trap  was  in  this  form — 

"  Would  you  be  willing  to  do  so  and  so  if  wre  should  give 
you  leave  ?" 

Her  answer  was  always  in  this  form  or  to  this  effect : 
"When  you  give  me  leave,  then  you  will  know." 
Yes,  Joan  was  at  her  best,  that  second  of  May.    She  had  all 
her  wits  about  her,  and  they  could  not  catch  her  anywhere.     It 
was  a  long,  long  session,  and  all  the  old  ground  was  fought  over 
again,  foot  by  foot,  and  the  orator-expert  worked  all  his  per 
suasions,  all  his  eloquence ;  but  the  result  was  the  familiar 
one — a  drawn  battle,  the  sixty-two  retiring  upon  their  base, 
the  solitary  enemy  holding  her  original  position  within  her 
original  lines. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE  brilliant  weather,  the  heavenly  weather,  the  bewitching 
weather  made  everybody's  heart  to  sing,  as  I  have  told  you ; 
yes,  Rouen  was  feeling  light-hearted  and  gay,  and  most  willing 
and  ready  to  break  out  and  laugh  upon  the  least  occasion  ; 
and  so  when  the  news  went  around  that  the  young  girl  in  the 
tower  had  scored  another  defeat  against  Bishop  Cauchon 
there  was  abundant  laughter — abundant  laughter  among  the 
citizens  of  both  parties,  for  they  all  hated  the  Bishop.  It  is 
true,  the  English-hearted  majority  of  the  people  wanted  Joan 
burned,  but  that  did  not  keep  them  from  laughing  at  the  man 
they  hated.  It  would  have  been  perilous  for  anybody  to 
laugh  at  the  English  chiefs  or  at  the  majority  of  Cauchon's 
assistant  judges,  but  to  laugh  at  Cauchon  or  D'Estivet  and 
Loyseleur  was  safe — nobody  would  report  it. 

The  difference  between  Cauchon  and  cochon  *  was  not  no 
ticeable  in  speech,  and  so  there  was  plenty  of  opportunity  for 
puns  :  the  opportunities  were  not  thrown  away. 

Some  of  the  jokes  got  well  worn  in  the  course  of  two  or 
three  months,  from  repeated  use ;  for  every  time  Cauchon 
started  a  new  trial  the  folk  said  "The  sow  has  littered f 
again";  and  every  time  the  trial  failed  they  said  it  over  again, 
with  its  other  meaning,  "  The  hog  has  made  a  mess  of  it." 

And  so,  on  the  third  of  May,  Noel  and  I,  drifting  about  the 
town,  heard  many  a  wide-mouthed  lout  let  go  his  joke  and 
his  laugh,  and  then  move  to  the  next  group,  proud  of  his  wit 
and  happy,  to  work  it  off  again — 

*  Hog,  pig. 

f  Cochonner,  to  litter,  to  farrow  ;  also,  "  to  make  a  mess  of  !" 


4io 

"  'Ods  blood,  the  sow  has  littered  five  times,  and  five  times 
has  made  a  mess  of  it!" 

And  now  and  then  one  was  bold  enough  to  say — but  he 
said  it  softly — 

"  Sixty-three  and  the  might  of  England  against  a  girl,  and 
she  camps  on  the  field  five  times !" 

Cauchon  lived  in  the  great  palace  of  the  Archbishop,  and 
it  was  guarded  by  English  soldiery ;  but  no  matter,  there  was 
never  a  dark  night  but  the  walls  showed,  next  morning,  that 
the  rude  joker  had  been  there  with  his  paint  and  brush.  Yes, 
he  had  been  there,  and  had  smeared  the  sacred  walls  with 
pictures  of  hogs  in  all  attitudes  except  flattering  ones ;  hogs 
clothed  in  a  Bishop's  vestments  and  wearing  a  Bishop's  mitre 
irreverently  cocked  on  the  side  of  their  heads. 

Cauchon  raged  and  cursed  over  his  defeats  and  his  impo 
tence  during  seven  days,  then  he  conceived  a  new  scheme. 
You  shall  see  what  it  was ;  for  you  have  not  cruel  hearts,  and 
you  would  never  guess  it. 

On  the  ninth  of  May  there  was  a  summons,  and  Manchon 
and  I  got  our  materials  together  and  started.  But  this  time 
we  were  to  go  to  one  of  the  other  towers — not  the  one  which 
was  Joan's  prison.  It  was  round  and  grim  and  massive,  and 
built  of  the  plainest  and  thickest  and  solidest  masonry — a 
dismal  and  forbidding  structure.* 

We  entered  the  circular  room  on  the  ground  floor,  and  I 
saw  what  turned  me  sick — the  instruments  of  torture  and  the 
executioners  standing  ready!  Here  you  have  the  black  heart 
of  Cauchon  at  the  blackest,  here  you  have  the  proof  that  in 
his  nature  there  was  no  such  thing  as  pity.  One  wonders  if 
he  ever  knew  his  mother  or  ever  had  a  sister. 

Cauchon  was  there,  and  the  Vice-Inquisitor  and  the  Abbot 
of  St.  Corneille ;  also  six  others,  among  them  that  false  Loy- 
seleur.  The  guards  were  in  their  places,  the  rack  was  there, 
and  by  it  stood  the  executioner  and  his  aids  in  their  crimson 

*  The  lower  half  of  it  remains  to-day  just  as  it  was  then  ;  the  upper 
half  is  of  a  later  date. — TRANSLATOR. 


EXECUTION    OF    JOAN    OF   ARC 
(From  the  mural  painting-  by  J.  E.  Lenepveu  in  the  Pantheon  at  Paris) 


hose  and  doubtlets,  meet  color  for  their  bloody  trade.  The 
picture  of  Joan  rose  before  me  stretched  upon  the  rack,  her 
feet  tied  to  one  end  of  it,  her  wrists  to  the  other,  and  those 
red  giants  turning  the  windlass  and  pulling  her  limbs  out  of 
their  sockets.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  hear  the  bones 
snap  and  the  flesh  tear  apart,  and  I  did  not  see  how  that 
body  of  anointed  servants  of  the  merciful  Jesus  could  sit 
there  and  look  so  placid  and  indifferent. 

After  a  little,  Joan  arrived  and  was  brought  in.  She  saw 
the  rack,  she  saw  its  attendants,  and  the  same  picture  which 
I  had  been  seeing  must  have  risen  in  her  mind ;  but  do  you 
think  she  quailed,  do  you  think  she  shuddered  ?  No,  there 
was  no  sign  of  that  sort.  She  straightened  herself  up,  and 
there  was  a  slight  curl  of  scorn  about  her  lip ;  but  as  for  fear, 
she  showed  not  a  vestige  of  it. 

This  was  a  memorable  session,  but  it  was  the  shortest  one 
of  all  the  list.  When  Joan  had  taken  her  seat  a  resume  of 
her  "  crimes  "  was  read  to  her.  Then  Cauchon  made  a  sol 
emn  speech.  In  it  he  said  that  in  the  course  of  her  several 
trials  Joan  had  refused  to  answer  some  of  the  questions  and 
had  answered  others  with  lies,  but  that  now  he  was  going  to 
have  the  truth  out  of  her,  and  the  whole  of  it. 

His  manner  was  full  of  confidence  this  time;  he  was  sure 
he  had  found  a  way  at  last  to  break  this  child's  stubborn 
spirit  and  make  her  beg  and  cry.  He  would  score  a  victory 
this  time  and  stop  the  mouths  of  the  jokers  of  Rouen.  You 
see,  he  was  only  just  a  man,  after  all,  and  couldn't  stand 
ridicule  any  better  than  other  people.  He  talked  high, 
and  his  splotchy  face  lighted  itself  up  with  all  the  shifting 
tints  and  signs  of  evil  pleasure  and  promised  triumph — pur-  I 
pie,  yellow,  red,  green — they  were  all  there,  with  sometimes  | 
the  dull  and  spongy  blue  of  a  drowned  man,  the  uncanniest 
of  them  all.  And  finally  he  burst  out  in  a  great  passion  and 
said — 

"There  is  the  rack,  and  there  are  its  ministers!  You  will 
reveal  all,  now,  or  be  put  to  the  torture.  Speak." 

Then  she  made  that  great  answer,  which  will  live  forever ; 


412 


made  it  without  fuss  or  bravado,  and  yet  how  fine  and  noble 
was  the  sound  of  it — 

"  I  will  tell  you  nothing  more  than  I  have  told  you ;  no, 
not  even  if  you  tear  the  limbs  from  my  body.  And  even 
if  in  my  pain  I  did  say  something  otherwise,  I  would  al 
ways  say  afterwards  that  it  was  the  torture  that  spoke  and 
not  I." 

There  was  no  crushing  that  spirit.  You  should  have  seen 
Cauchon.  Defeated  again,  and  he  had  not  dreamed  of  such 
a  thing.  I  heard  it  said  next  day,  around  the  town,  that  he 
had  a  full  confession,  all  written  out,  in  his  pocket  and  all 
ready  for  Joan  to  sign.  I  do  not  know  that  that  was  true, 
but  it  probably  was,  for  her  mark  signed  at  the  bottom  of  a 
confession  would  be  the  kind  of  evidence  (for  effect  with  the 
public)  which  Cauchon  and  his  people  would  particularly 
value,  you  know. 

No,  there  was  no  crushing  that  spirit,  and  no  beclouding 
that  clear  mind.  Consider  the  depth,  the  wisdom  of  that  an 
swer,  coming  from  an  ignorant  girl.  Why,  there  were  not  six 
men  in  the  world  who  had  ever  reflected  that  words  forced 
out  of  a  person  by  horrible  tortures  were  not  necessarily 
words  of  verity  and  truth,  yet  this  unlettered  peasant  girl  put 
her  finger  upon  that  flaw  with  an  unerring  instinct.  I  had 
always  supposed  that  torture  brought  out  the  truth — every 
body  supposed  it  -,  and  when  Joan  came  out  with  those  sim 
ple  common-sense  words  they  seemed  to  flood  the  place  with 
light.  It  was  like  a  lightning-flash  at  midnight  which  sud 
denly  reveals  a  fair  valley  sprinkled  over  with  silver  streams 
and  gleaming  villages  and  farmsteads  where  was  only  an  im 
penetrable  world  of  darkness  before.  Manchon  stole  a  side- 
wise  look  at  me,  and  his  face  was  full  of  surprise ;  and  there 
was  the  like  to  be  seen  in  other  faces  there.  Consider — they 
were  old,  and  deeply  cultured,  yet  here  was  a  village  maid 
able  to  teach  them  something  which  they  had  not  known  be 
fore.  I  heard  one  of  them  mutter — • 

"  Verily  it  is  a  wonderful  creature.  She  has  laid  her  hand 
upon  an  accepted  truth  that  is  as  old  as  the  world,  and  it 


413 


has  crumbled  to  dust  and  rubbish  under  her  touch.  Now 
whence  got  she  that  marvellous  insight  ?" 

The  judges  laid  their  heads  together  and  began  to  talk 
low.  It  was  plain,  from  chance  words  which  one  caught  now 
and  then,  that  Cauchon  and  Loyseleur  were  insisting  upon 
the  application  of  the  torture,  and  that  most  of  the  others  were 
urgently  objecting. 

Finally  Cauchon  broke  out  with  a  good  deal  of  asperity  in 
his  voice  and  ordered  Joan  back  to  her  dungeon.  That  was 
a  happy  surprise  for  me.  I  was  not  expecting  that  the  Bishop 
would  yield. 

When  Manchon  came  home  that  night  he  said  he  had 
found  out  why  the  torture  was  not  applied.  There  were  two 
reasons.  One  was,  a  fear  that  Joan  might  die  under  the 
torture,  which  would  not  suit  the  English  at  all ;  the  other 
was,  that  the  torture  would  effect  nothing  if  Joan  was  going 
to  take  back  everything  she  said  under  its  pains ;  and  as  to 
putting  her  mark  to  a  confession,  it  was  believed  that  not 
even  the  rack  could  ever  make  her  do  that. 

So  all  Rouen  laughed  again,  and  kept  it  up  for  three  days, 
saying— 

"The  sow  has  littered  six  times,  and  made  six  messes 
of  it." 

And  the  palace  walls  got  a  new  decoration — a  mitred  hog 
carrying  a  discarded  rack  home  on  its  shoulder,  and  Loyseleur 
weeping  in  its  wake.  Many  rewards  were  offered  for  the 
capture  of  these  painters,  but  nobody  applied.  Even  the 
English  guard  feigned  blindness  and  would  not  see  the  ar 
tists  at  work. 

The  Bishop's  anger  was  very  high  now.  He  could  not 
reconcile  himself  to  the  idea  of  giving  up  the  torture.  It  was 
the  pleasantest  idea  he  had  invented  yet,  and  he  would  not 
cast  it  by.  So  he  called  in  some  of  his  satellites  on  the  twelfth, 
and  urged  the  torture  again.  But  it  was  a  failure.  With 
some,  Joan's  speech  had  wrought  an  effect ;  others  feared  she 
might  die  under  the  torture  ;  others  did  not  believe  that  any 
amount  of  suffering  could  make  her  put  her  mark  to  a  lying 


414 

confession.  There  were  fourteen  men  present,  including  the 
Bishop.  Eleven  of  them  voted  dead  against  the  torture,  and 
stood  their  ground  in  spite  of  Cauchon's  abuse.  Two  voted 
with  the  Bishop  and  insisted  upon  the  torture.  These  two 
were  Loyseleur  and  the  orator  —  the  man  whom  Joan  had 
bidden  to  "  read  his  book  " — Thomas  de  Courcelles,  the  re 
nowned  pleader,  and  master  of  eloquence. 

Age  has  taught  me  charity  of  speech ;  but  it  fails  me  when 
I  think  of  those  three  names — Cauchon,  Courcelles,  Loyseleur. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

ANOTHER  ten  days'  wait.  The  great  theologians  of  that 
treasury  of  all  valuable  knowledge  and  all  wisdom,  the  Uni 
versity  of  Paris,  were  still  weighing  and  considering  and  dis 
cussing  the  Twelve  Lies. 

I  had  but  little  to  do,  these  ten  days,  so  I  spent  them  main 
ly  in  walks  about  the  town  with  Noel.  But  there  was  no 
pleasure  in  them,  our  spirits  being  so  burdened  with  cares, 
and  the  outlook  for  Joan  growing  so  steadily  darker  and 
darker  all  the  time.  And  then  we  naturally  contrasted  our 
circumstances  with  hers :  this  freedom  and  sunshine,  with 
her  darkness  and  chains  -,  our  comradeship,  with  her  lonely 
estate  ;  our  alleviations  of  one  sort  and  another,  with  her  des 
titution  in  all.  She  was  used  to  liberty,  but  now  she  had 
none ;  she  was  an  out-of-door  creature  by  nature  and  habit, 
but  now  she  was  shut  up  day  and  night  in  a  steel  cage  like 
an  animal-,  she  was  used  to  the  light,  but  now  she  was  always 
in  a  gloom  where  all  objects  about  her  were  dim  and  spectral ; 
she  was  used  to  the  thousand  various  sounds  which  are  the 
cheer  and  music  of  a  busy  life,  but  now  she  heard  only  the 
monotonous  footfall  of  the  sentry  pacing  his  watch ;  she  had 
been  fond  of  talking  with  her  mates,  but  now  there  was  no 
one  to  talk  to ;  she  had  had  an  easy  laugh,  but  it  was 
gone  dumb,  now;  she  had  been  born  for  comradeship,  and 
blithe  and  busy  work,  and  all  manner  of  joyous  activities,  but 
here  were  only  dreariness,  and  leaden  hours,  and  weary  in 
action,  and  brooding  stillness,  and  thoughts  that  travel  day 
and  night  and  night  and  day  round  and  round  in  the  same 
circle,  and  wear  the  brain  and  break  the  heart  with  weariness. 


416 

It  was  death  in  life;  yes,  death  in  life,  that  is  what  it  must 
have  been.  And  there  was  another  hard  thing  about  it  all. 
A  young  girl  in  trouble  needs  the  soothing  solace  and  sup 
port  and  sympathy  of  persons  of  her  own  sex,  and  the  deli 
cate  offices  and  gentle  ministries  which  only  these  can  fur 
nish  ;  yet  in  all  these  months  of  gloomy  captivity  in  her 
dungeon  Joan  never  saw  the  face  of  a  girl  or  a  woman.  Think 
how  her  heart  would  have  leaped  to  see  such  a  face. 

Consider.  If  you  would  realize  how  great  Joan  of  Arc  was, 
remember  that  it  was  out  of  such  a  place  and  such  circum 
stances  that  she  came  week  after  week  and  month  after 
month  and  confronted  the  master  intellects  of  France  single- 
handed,  and  baffled  their  cunningest  schemes,  defeated  their 
ablest  plans,  detected  and  avoided  their  secretest  traps  and 
pitfalls,  broke  their  lines,  repelled  their  assaults,  and  camped 
on  the  field  after  every  engagement;  steadfast  always,  true  to 
her  faith  and  her  ideals-,  defying  torture,  defying  the  stake, 
and  answering  threats  of  eternal  death  and  the  pains  of  hell 
with  a  simple  "  Let  come  what  may,  here  I  take  my  stand 
and  will  abide." 

Yes,  if  you  would  realize  how  great  was  the  soul,  how  pro 
found  the  wisdom,  and  how  luminous  the  intellect  of  Joan  of 
Arc,  you  must  study  her  there,  where  she  fought  out  that  long 
fight  all  alone  —  and  not  merely  against  the  subtlest  brains 
and  deepest  learning  of  France,  but  against  the  ignoblest  de 
ceits,  the  meanest  treacheries,  and  the  hardest  hearts  to  be 
found  in  any  land,  pagan  or  Christian. 

She  was  great  in  battle — we  all  know  that-,  great  in  fore 
sight  -,  great  in  loyalty  and  patriotism ;  great  in  persuading 
discontented  chiefs  and  reconciling  conflicting  interests  and 
passions  ,  great  in  the  ability  to  discover  merit  and  genius 
wherever  it  lay  hidden  ;  great  in  picturesque  and  eloquent 
speech ;  supremely  great  in  the  gift  of  firing  the  hearts  of 
hopeless  men  with  noble  enthusiasms,  the  gift  of  turning 
hares  into  heroes,  slaves  and  skulkers  into  battalions  that 
march  to  death  with  songs  upon  their  lips.  But  all  these  are 
exalting  activities-,  they  keep  hand  and  heart  and  brain 


417 


keyed  up  to  their  work  :  there  is  the  joy  of  achievement,  the 
inspiration  of  stir  and  movement,  the  applause  which  hails 
success ;  the  soul  is  overflowing  with  life  and  energy,  the 
faculties  are  at  white  heat;  weariness,  despondency,  inertia — 
these  do  not  exist. 

Yes,  Joan  of  Arc  was  great  always,  great  everywhere,  but 
she  was  greatest  in  the  Rouen  trials.  There  she  rose  above 
the  limitations  and  infirmities  of  our  human  nature,  and  ac 
complished  under  blighting  and  unnerving  and  hopeless  con 
ditions  all  that  her  splendid  equipment  of  moral  and  in 
tellectual  forces  could  have  accomplished  if  they  had  been 
supplemented  by  the  mighty  helps  of  hope  and  cheer  and 
light,  the  presence  of  friendly  faces,  and  a  fair  and  equal  fight, 
with  the  great  world  looking  on  and  wondering. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

TOWARD  the  end  of  the  ten-day  interval  the  University  of 
Paris  rendered  its  decision  concerning  the  Twelve  Articles. 
By  this  finding,  Joan  was  guilty  upon  all  the  counts:  she  must 
renounce  her  errors  and  make  satisfaction,  or  be  abandoned 
to  the  secular  arm  for  punishment. 

The  University's  mind  was  probably  already  made  up  be 
fore  the  Articles  were  laid  before  it ;  yet  it  took  it  from  the 
fifth  to  the  eighteenth  to  produce  its  verdict.  I  think  the 
delay  may  have  been  caused  by  temporary  difficulties  con 
cerning  two  points : 

1,  As  to  who  the  fiends  were  who  were  represented  in  Joan's 
Voices ; 

2,  As  to  whether  her  saints  spoke  French  only. 

You  understand,  the  University  decided  emphatically  that 
it  was  fiends  who  spoke  in  those  Voices;  it  would  need  to 
prove  that,  and  it  did.  It  found  out  who  the  fiends  were,  and 
named  them  in  the  verdict :  Belial,  Satan,  and  Behemoth. 
This  has  always  seemed  a  doubtful  thing  to  me,  and  not  en 
titled  to  much  credit.  I  think  so  for  this  reason  :  if  the  Uni 
versity  had  actually  known  it  was  those  three,  it  would  for 
very  consistency's  sake  have  told  how  it  knew  it,  and  not 
stopped  with  the  mere  assertion,  since  it  had  made  Joan  ex 
plain  how  she  knew  they  were  not  fiends.  Does  not  that 
seem  reasonable  ?  To  my  mind  the  University's  position  was 
weak,  and  I  will  tell  you  why.  It  had  claimed  that  Joan's 
angels  were  devils  in  disguise,  and  we  all  know  that  devils  do 
disguise  themselves  as  angels ;  up  to  that  point  the  Universi 
ty's  position  was  strong ;  but  you  see  yourself  that  it  eats  its 
own  argument  when  it  turns  around  and  pretends  that  it  can 


419 

tell  who  such  apparitions  are,  while  denying  the  like  ability  to 
a  person  with  as  good  a  head  on  her  shoulders  as  the  best  one 
the  University  could  produce. 

The  doctors  of  the  University  had  to  see  those  creatures  in 
order  to  know;  and  if  Joan  was  deceived,  it  is  argument  that 
they  in  their  turn  could  also  be  deceived,  for  their  insight  and 
judgment  were  surely  not  clearer  than  hers. 

As  to  the  other  point  which  I  have  thought  may  have 
proved  a  difficulty  and  cost  the  University  delay,  I  will  touch 
but  a  moment  upon  that,  and  pass  on.  The  University  de 
cided  that  it  was  blasphemy  for  Joan  to  say  that  her  saints 
spoke  French  and  not  English,  and  were  on  the  French  side 
in  political  sympathies.  I  think  that  the  thing  which  trou 
bled  the  doctors  of  theology  was  this :  they  had  decided  that 
the  three  Voices  were  Satan  and  two  other  devils  ;  but  they 
had  also  decided  that  these  Voices  were  not  on  the  French 
side — thereby  tacitly  asserting  that  they  were  on  the  English 
side ;  and  if  on  the  English  side,  then  they  must  be  angels 
and  not  devils.  Otherwise,  the  situation  was  embarrassing. 
You  see,  the  University  being  the  wisest  and  deepest  and 
most  erudite  body  in  the  world,  it  would  like  to  be  logical  if 
it  could,  for  the  sake  of  its  reputation  ;  therefore  it  would 
study  and  study,  clays  and  days,  trying  to  find  some  good  com 
mon-sense  reason  for  proving  the  Voices  devils  in  Article  No. 
i  and  proving  them  angels  in  Article  No.  10.  However,  they 
had  to  give  it  up.  They  found  no  way  out :  and  so,  to  this  day 
the  University's  verdict  remains  just  so — devils  in  No.  i,  an 
gels  in  No.  10 ;  and  no  way  to  reconcile  the  discrepancy. 

The  envoys  brought  the  verdict  to  Rouen,  and  with  it  a  let 
ter  for  Cauchon  which  was  full  of  fervid  praise.  The  Uni 
versity  complimented  him  on  his  zeal  in  hunting  down  this 
woman  "  whose  venom  had  infected  the  faithful  of  the  whole 
West,"  and  as  recompense  it  as  good  as  promised  him  "  a 
crown  of  imperishable  glory  in  heaven."  Only  that ! — a  crown 
in  heaven  ;  a  promissory  note  and  no  indorser  ;  always  some 
thing  away  off  yonder  ;  not  a  word  about  the  Archbishopric 
of  Rouen,  which  was  the  thing  Cauchon  was  destroying  his 


420 


soul  for.  A  crown  in  heaven  ;  it  must  have  sounded  like  a 
sarcasm  to  him,  after  all  his  hard  work.  What  should  he  do 
in  heaven  ?  he  did  not  know  anybody  there. 

On  the  nineteenth  of  May  a  court  of  fifty  judges  sat  in  the 
archiepiscopal  palace  to  discuss  Joan's  fate.  A  few  wanted 
her  delivered  over  to  the  secular  arm  at  once  for  punishment, 
but  the  rest  insisted  that  she  be  once  more  "charitably  ad 
monished  "  first. 

So  the  same  court  met  in  the  castle  on  the  twenty-third,  and 
Joan  was  brought  to  the  bar.  Pierre  Maurice,  a  canon  of  Rouen, 
made  a  speech  to  Joan  in  which  he  admonished  her  to  save 
her  life  and  her  soul  by  renouncing  her  errors  and  surrender 
ing  to  the  Church.  He  finished  with  a  stern  threat :  if  she 
remained  obstinate  the  damnation  of  her  soul  was  certain,  the 
destruction  of  her  body  probable.  But  Joan  was  immovable. 
She  said — 

"  If  I  were  under  sentence,  and  saw  the  fire  before  me,  and 
the  executioner  ready  to  light  it — more,  if  I  were  in  the  fire 
itself,  I  would  say  none  but  the  things  which  I  have  said  in 
these  trials ;  and  I  would  abide  by  them  till  I  died." 

A  deep  silence  followed,  now,  which  endured  some  mo 
ments.  It  lay  upon  me  like  a  weight.  I  knew  it  for  an 
omen.  Then  Cauchon,  grave  and  solemn,  turned  to  Pierre 
Maurice — 

"  Have  you  anything  further  to  say  ?" 

The  priest  bowed  low,  and  said — 

"  Nothing,  my  lord." 

"Prisoner  at  the  bar,  have  you  anything  further  to  say?'1 

"  Nothing." 

"Then  the  debate  is  closed.  To-morrow,  sentence  will  be 
pronounced.  Remove  the  prisoner." 

She  seemed  to  go  from  the  place  erect  and  noble.  But  I  do 
not  know;  my  sight  was  dim  with  tears. 

To-morrow — twenty-fourth  of  May  !  Exactly  a  year  since  I 
saw  her  go  speeding  across  the  plain  at  the  head  of  her  troops, 
her  silver  helmet  shining,  her  silvery  cape  fluttering  in  the 
wind,  her  white  plumes  flowing,  her  sword  held  aloft ;  saw  her 


421 


charge  the  Burgundian  camp  three  times,  and  carry  it ;  saw 
her  wheel  to  the  right  and  spur  for  the  Duke's  reserves ;  saw 
her  fling  herself  against  it  in  the  last  assault  she  was  ever  to 
make.  And  now  that  fatal  day  was  come  again — and  see 
what  it  was  bringing ! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

JOAN  had  been  adjudged  guilty  of  heresy,  sorcery,  and  all 
the  other  terrible  crimes  set  forth  in  the  Twelve  Articles,  and 
her  life  was  in  Cauchon's  hands  at  last.  He  could  send  her 
to  the  stake  at  once.  His  work  was  finished  now,  you  think  ? 
He  was  satisfied  ?  Not  at  all.  What  would  his  Archbishopric 
be  worth  if  the  people  should  get  the  idea  into  their  heads 
that  this  faction  of  interested  priests,  slaving  under  the  Eng 
lish  lash,  had  wrongly  condemned  and  burned  Joan  of  Arc, 
Deliverer  of  France  ?  That  would  be  to  make  of  her  a  holy 
martyr.  Then  her  spirit  would  rise  from  her  body's  ashes,  a 
thousand-fold  reinforced,  and  sweep  the  English  domination 
into  the  sea,  and  Cauchon  along  with  it.  No,  the  victory  was 
not  complete  yet.  Joan's  guilt  must  be  established  by  evi 
dence  which  would  satisfy  the  people.  Where  was  that  evi 
dence  to  be  found  ?  There  was  only  one  person  in  the  world 
who  could  furnish  it — Joan  of  Arc  herself.  She  must  con 
demn  herself,  and  in  public  —  at  least  she  must  seem  to 
do  it. 

But  how  was  this  to  be  managed  ?  Weeks  had  been  spent 
already  in  trying  to  get  her  to  surrender — time  wholly  wasted ; 
what  was  to  persuade  her  now  ?  Torture  had  been  threat 
ened,  the  fire  had  been  threatened  ;  what  was  left  ?  Illness, 
deadly  fatigue,  and  the  sight  of  the  fire,  the  presence  of  the 
fire  !  That  was  left. 

Now  that  was  a  shrewd  thought.  She  was  but  a  girl,  after 
all,  and,  under  illness  and  exhaustion,  subject  to  a  girl's  weak 
nesses. 

Yes,  it  was  shrewdly  thought.  She  had  tacitly  said,  her 
self,  that  under  the  bitter  pains  of  the  rack  they  would  be 


THE   MAID    OF   ORLEANS 
(From  a  statue  by  Freimet  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  at  Paris) 


able  to  extort  a  false  confession  from  her.  It  was  a  hint 
worth  remembering,  and  it  was  remembered. 

She  had  furnished  another  hint  at  the  same  time  :  that  as 
soon  as  the  pains  were  gone,  she  would  retract  the  confes 
sion.  That  hint  was  also  remembered. 

She  had  herself  taught  them  what  to  do,  you  see.  First, 
they  must  wear  out  her  strength,  then  frighten  her  with  the 
fire.  Second,  while  the  fright  was  on  her,  she  must  be  made 
to  sign  a  paper. 

But  she  would  demand  a  reading  of  the  paper.  They  could 
not  venture  to  refuse  this,  with  the  public  there  to  hear.  Sup 
pose  that  during  the  reading  her  courage  should  return  ?  she 
would  refuse  to  sign,  then.  Very  well,  even  that  difficulty 
could  be  got  over.  They  could  read  a  short  paper  of  no  im 
portance,  then  slip  a  long  and  deadly  one  into  its  place  and 
trick  her  into  signing  that. 

Yet  there  was  still  one  other  difficulty.  If  they  made  her 
seem  to  abjure,  that  would  free  her  from  the  death  penalty. 
They  could  keep  her  in  a  prison  of  the  Church,  but  they  could 
not  kill  her.  That  would  not  answer-,  for  only  her  death 
would  content  the  English.  Alive  she  was  a  terror,  in  a 
prison  or  out  of  it.  She  had  escaped  from  two  prisons 
already. 

But  even  that  difficulty  could  be  managed.  Cauchon  would 
make  promises  to  her ;  in  return,  she  would  promise  to  leave 
off  the  male  dress.  He  would  violate  his  promises,  and  that 
would  so  situate  her  that  she  would  not  be  able  to  keep  hers. 
Her  lapse  would  condemn  her  to  the  stake,  and  the  stake 
would  be  ready. 

These  were  the  several  moves  -,  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  to  make  them,  each  in  its  order,  and  the  game  was  won. 
One  might  almost  name  the  day  that  the  betrayed  girl,  the 
most  innocent  creature  in  France,  and  the  noblest,  would  go 
to  her  pitiful  death. 

And  the  time  was  favorable  —  cruelly  favorable.  Joan's 
spirit  had  as  yet  suffered  no  decay,  it  was  as  sublime  and 
masterful  as  ever  ;  but  her  body's  forces  had  been  steadily 


424 


wasting  away  in  those  last  ten  days,  and  a  strong  mind  needs 
a  healthy  body  for  its  rightful  support. 

The  world  knows,  now,  that  Cauchon's  plan  was  as  I  have 
sketched  it  to  you,  but  the  world  did  not  know  it  at  that  time. 
There  are  sufficient  indications  that  Warwick  and  all  the  other 
English  chiefs  except  the  highest  one — the  Cardinal  of  Win 
chester — were  not  let  into  the  secret ;  also,  that  only  Loyse- 
leur  and  Beaupere,  on  the  French  side,  knew  the  scheme. 
Sometimes  I  have  doubted  if  even  Loyseleur  and  Beaupere 
knew  the  whole  of  it  at  first.  However,  if  any  did,  it  was 
these  two. 

It  is  usual  to  let  the  condemned  pass  their  last  night  of 
life  in  peace,  but  this  grace  was  denied  to  poor  Joan,  if  one 
may  credit  the  rumors  of  the  time.  Loyseleur  was  smuggled 
into  her  presence,  and  in  the  character  of  priest,  friend,  and 
secret  partisan  of  France  and  hater  of  England,  he  spent  some 
hours  in  beseeching  her  to  do  "  the  only  right  and  righteous 
thing" — submit  to  the  Church,  as  a  good  Christian  should; 
and  that  then  she  would  straightway  get  out  of  the  clutches 
of  the  dreaded  English  and  be  transferred  to  the  Church's 
prison,  where  she  would  be  honorably  used  and  have  women 
about  her  for  jailers.  He  knew  where  to  touch  her.  He 
knew  how  odious  to  her  was  the  presence  of  her  rough  and 
profane  English  guards  ;  he  knew  that  her  Voices  had  vague 
ly  promised  something  which  she  interpreted  to  be  escape, 
rescue,  release  of  some  sort,  and  the  chance  to  burst  upon 
France  once  more  and  victoriously  complete  the  great  work 
which  she  had  been  commissioned  of  Heaven  to  do.  Also 
there  was  that  other  thing  :  if  her  failing  body  could  be 
further  weakened  by  loss  of  rest  and  sleep,  now,  her  tired 
mind  would  be  dazed  and  drowsy  on  the  morrow,  and  in 
ill  condition  to  stand  out  against  persuasions,  threats,  and 
the  sight  of  the  stake,  and  also  be  purblind  to  traps  and 
snares  which  it  would  be  swift  to  detect  when  in  its  normal 
estate. 

I  do  not  need  to  tell  you  that  there  was  no  rest  for  me  that 
night.  Nor  for  Noel.  We  went  to  the  main  gate  of  the  city 


425 

before  nightfall,  with  a  hope  in  our  minds,  based  upon  that 
vague  prophecy  of  Joan's  Voices  which  seemed  to  promise  a 
rescue  by  force  at  the  last  moment.  The  immense  news  had 
flown  swiftly  far  and  wide  that  at  last  Joan  of  Arc  was  con 
demned,  and  would  be  sentenced  and  burned  alive  on  the 
morrow  ;  and  so,  crowds  of  people  were  flowing  in  at  the 
gate,  and  other  crowds  were  being  refused  admission  by  the 
soldiery ;  these  being  people  who  brought  doubtful  passes  or 
none  at  all.  We  scanned  these  crowds  eagerly,  but  there  was 
nothing  about  them  to  indicate  that  they  were  our  old  war- 
comrades  in  disguise,  and  certainly  there  were  no  familiar 
faces  among  them.  And  so,  when  the  gate  was  closed  at  last, 
we  turned  away  grieved,  and  more  disappointed  than  we  cared 
to  admit,  either  in  speech  or  thought. 

The  streets  were  surging  tides  of  excited  men.  It  was  dif 
ficult  to  make  one's  way.  Toward  midnight  our  aimless 
tramp  brought  us  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  beautiful  church 
of  St.  Ouen,  and  there  all  was  bustle  and  work.  The  square 
was  a  wilderness  of  torches  and  people  ;  and  through  a  guard 
ed  passage  dividing  the  pack,  laborers  were  carrying  planks 
and  timbers  and  disappearing  with  them  through  the  gate  of 
the  churchyard.  We  asked  what  was  going  forward ;  the 
answer  was — 

"  Scaffolds  and  the  stake.  Don't  you  know  that  the  French 
witch  is  to  be  burnt  in  the  morning?" 

Then  we  went  away.     We  had  no  heart  for  that  place. 

At  dawn  we  were  at  the  city  gate  again  ;  this  time  with  a 
hope  which  our  wearied  bodies  and  fevered  minds  magnified 
into  a  large  probability.  We  had  heard  a  report  that  the 
Abbot  of  Jumieges  with  all  his  monks  was  coming  to  witness 
the  burning.  Our  desire,  abetted  by  our  imagination,  turned 
those  nine  hundred  monks  into  Joan's  old  campaigners,  and 
their  Abbot  into  La  Hire  or  the  Bastard  or  D'Alen9on ;  and 
we  watched  them  file  in,  unchallenged, 'the  multitude  respect 
fully  dividing  and  uncovering  while  they  passed,  with  our 
hearts  in  our  throats  and  our  eyes  swimming  with  tears  of  joy 
and  pride  and  exultation  ;  and  we  tried  to  catch  glimpses  of 


426 


the  faces  under  the  cowls,  and  were  prepared  to  give  signal  to 
any  recognized  face  that  we  were  Joan's  men  and  ready  and 
eager  to  kill  and  be  killed  in  the  good  cause.  How  foolish 
we  were  ;  but  we  were  young,  you  know,  and  youth  hopeth  all 
things,  believeth  all  things. 


CHAPTER    XX 

IN  the  morning  I  was  at  my  official  post.  It  was  on  a  plat 
form  raised  the  height  of  a  man,  in  the  churchyard,  under  the 
eaves  of  St.  Ouen.  On  this  same  platform  was  a  crowd  of 
priests  and  important  citizens,  and  severa"!  lawyers.  Abreast 
it,  with  a  small  space  between,  was  another  and  larger  plat 
form,  handsomely  canopied  against  sun  ancj  rain,  and  richly 
carpeted ;  also  it  was  furnished  with  comfortable  chairs,  and 
with  two  which  were  more  sumptuous  than  the  others,  and 
raised  above  the  general  level.  One  of  these  two  was  occu 
pied  by  a  prince  of  the  royal  blood  of  England,  his  Eminence 
the  Cardinal  of  Winchester ;  the  other  by  Cauchon,  Bishop  of 
Beauvais.  In  the  rest  of  the  chairs  sat  three  bishops,  the 
Vice-Inquisitor,  eight  abbots,  and  the  sixty-two  friars  and 
lawyers  who  had  sat  as  Joan's  judges  in  her  late  trials. 

Twenty  steps  in  front  of  the  platforms  was  another — a 
table-topped  pyramid  of  stone,  built  up  in  retreating  courses, 
thus  forming  steps.  Out  of  this  rose  that  grisly  thing  the 
stake ;  about  the  stake  bundles  of  fagots  and  firewood  were 
piled.  On  the  ground  at  the  base  of  the  pyramid  stood  three 
crimson  figures,  the  executioner  and  his  assistants.  At  their 
feet  lay  what  had  been  a  goodly  heap  of  brands,  but  was  now 
a  smokeless  nest  of  ruddy  coals ;  a  foot  or  two  from  this  was 
a  supplemental  supply  of  wood  and  fagots  compacted  into  a 
pile  shoulder-high  and  containing  as  much  as  six  pack-horse 
loads.  Think  of  that.  We  seem  so  delicately  made,  so  de 
structible,  so  insubstantial ;  yet  it  is  easier  to  reduce  a  granite 
statue  to  ashes  than  it  is  to  do  that  with  a  man's  body. 

The  sight  of  the  stake  sent  physical  pains  tingling  down  the 
nerves  of  my  body;  and  yet,  turn  as  I  would,  my  eyes  would 


428 


keep  coming  back  to  it,  such  fascination  has  the  grewsome 
and  the  terrible  for  us. 

The  space  occupied  by  the  platforms  and  the  stake  was 
kept  open  by  a  wall  of  English  soldiery,  standing  elbow  to  el 
bow,  erect  and  stalwart  figures,  fine  and  sightly  in  their  pol 
ished  steel ;  while  from  behind  them  on  every  hand  stretched 
far  away  a  level  plain  of  human  heads  -,  and  there  was  no 
window  and  no  housetop  within  our  view,  howsoever  distant, 
but  was  black  with  patches  and  masses  of  people. 

But  there  was  no  noise,  no  stir ;  it  was  as  if  the  world  was 
dead.  The  impressiveness  of  this  silence  and  solemnity  was 
deepened  by  a  leaden  twilight,  for  the  sky  was  hidden  by  a 
pall  of  low-hanging  storm-clouds ;  and  above  the  remote  hori 
zon  faint  winkings  of  heat-lightning  played,  and  now  and  then 
one  caught  the  dull  mutterings  and  complainings  of  distant 
thunder. 

At  last  the  stillness  was  broken.  From  beyond  the  square 
rose  an  indistinct  sound,  but  familiar — curt,  crisp  phrases  of 
command ;  next  I  saw  the  plain  of  heads  dividing,  and  the 
steady  swing  of  a  marching  host  was  glimpsed  between.  My 
heart  leaped,  for  a  moment.  Was  it  La  Hire  and  his  hell 
ions  ?  No — that  was  not  their  gait.  No,  it  was  the  prisoner 
and  her  escort;  it  was  Joan  of  Arc,  under  guard,  that  was 
coming ;  my  spirits  sank  as  low  as  they  had  been  before. 
Weak  as  she  was,  they  made  her  walk  •,  they  would  increase 
her  weakness  all  they  could.  The  distance  was  not  great— it 
was  but  a  few  hundred  yards — but  short  as  it  was  it  was  a 
heavy  tax  upon  one  who  had  been  lying  chained  in  one  spot 
for  months,  and  whose  feet  had  lost  their  powers  from  inac 
tion.  Yes,  and  for  a  year  Joan  had  known  only  the  cool 
damps  of  a  dungeon,  and  now  she  was  dragging  herself 
through  this  sultry  summer  heat,  this  airless  and  suffocating 
void.  As  she  enterec  the  gate,  drooping  with  exhaustion, 
there  was  that  creature  Loyseleur  at  her  side  with  his  head 
bent  to  her  ear.  We  knew  afterwards  that  he  had  been  with 
her  again  this  morning  in  the  prison  wearying  her  with  his 
persuasions  and  enticing  her  with  false  promises,  and  that  he 


429 

was  now  still  at  the  same  work  at  the  gate,  imploring  her  to 
yield  everything  that  would  be  required  of  her,  and  assuring 
her  that  if  she  would  do  this  all  would  be  well  with  her :  she 
would  be  rid  of  the  dreaded  English  and  find  safety  in  the 
powerful  shelter  and  protection  of  the  Church.  A  miserable 
man,  a  stony-hearted  man  ! 

The  moment  Joan  was  seated  on  the  platform  she  closed 
her  eyes  and  allowed  her  chin  to  fall ;  and  so  sat,  with  her 
hands  nestling  in  her  lap,  indifferent  to  everything,  caring  for 
nothing  but  rest.  And  she  was  so  white  again ;  white  as  ala 
baster. 

How  the  faces  of  that  packed  mass  of  humanity  lighted  up 
with  interest,  and  with  what  intensity  all  eyes  gazed  upon  this 
fragile  girl !  And  how  natural  it  was ;  for  these  people  real 
ized  that  at  last  they  were  looking  upon  that  person  whom 
they  had  so  long  hungered  to  see  ;  a  person  whose  name  and 
fame  filled  all  Europe,  and  made  all  other  names  and  all  other 
renowns  insignificant  by  comparison  :  Joan  of  Arc,  the  won 
der  of  the  time,  and  destined  to  be  the  wonder  of  all  times  !  | 
And  I  could  read  as  by  print,  in  their  marvelling  counte 
nances,  the  words  that  were  drifting  through  their  minds  : 
"  Can  it  be  true  ;  is  it  believable,  that  it  is  this  little  creature, 
this  girl,  this  child  with  the  good  face,  the  sweet  face,  the  beau 
tiful  face,  the  dear  and  bonny  face,  that  has  carried  fortresses 
by  storm,  charged  at  the  head  of  victorious  armies,  blown  the 
might  of  England  out  of  her  path  with  a  breath,  and  fought 
a  long  campaign,  solitary  and  alone,  against  the  massed  brains 
and  learning  of  France — and  had  won  it  if  the  fight  had  been 
fair !" 

Evidently  Cauchon  had  grown  afraid  of  Manchon  because 
of  his  pretty  apparent  leanings  toward  Joan,  for  another  re 
corder  was  in  the  chief  place,  here,  which  left  my  master  and 
me  nothing  to  do  but  sit  idle  and  look  on. 

Well,  I  supposed  that  everything  had  been  done  which 
could  be  thought  of  to  tire  Joan's  body  and  mind,  but  it  was 
a  mistake  \  one  more  device  had  been  invented.  This  was  to 
preach  a  long  sermon  to  her  in  that  oppressive  heat. 


43° 

When  the  preacher  began,  she  cast  up  one  distressed  and 
disappointed  look,  then  dropped  her  head  again.  This 
preacher  was  Guillaume  Erard,  an  oratorical  celebrity.  He 
got  his  text  from  the  Twelve  Lies.  He  emptied  upon  Joan 
all  the  calumnies,  in  detail,  that  had  been  bottled  up  in  that 
mess  of  venom,  and  called  her  all  the  brutal  names  that  the 
Twelve  were  labelled  with,  working  himself  into  a  whirlwind 
of  fury  as  he  went  on  ;  but  his  labors  were  wasted,  she  seemed 
lost  in  dreams,  she  made  no  sign,  she  did  not  seem  to  hear. 
At  last  he  launched  this  apostrophe  : 

"  O  France,  how  hast  thou  been  abused  !  Thou  hast  al 
ways  been  the  home  of  Christianity ;  but  now,  Charles,  who 
calls  himself  thy  King  and  governor,  indorses  like  the  here 
tic  and  schismatic  that  he  is,  the  words  and  deeds  of  a  worth 
less  and  infamous  woman  !"  Joan  raised  her  head,  and  her 
eyes  began  to  burn  and  flash.  The  preacher  turned  toward 
her :  "  It  is  to  you,  Joan,  that  I  speak,  and  I  tell  you  that 
your  King  is  schismatic  and  a  heretic  !" 

Ah,  he  might  abuse  her  to  his  heart's  content ;  she  could 
endure  that ;  but  to  her  dying  moment  she  could  never  hear 
in  patience  a  word  against  that  ingrate,  that  treacherous  dog 
our  King,  whose  proper  place  was  here,  at  this  moment, 
sword  in  hand,  routing  these  reptiles  and  saving  this  most 
noble  servant  that  ever  King  had  in  this  world  —  and  he 
would  have  been  there  if  he  had  not  been  what  I  have  called 
him.  Joan's  loyal  soul  was  outraged,  and  she  turned  upon 
the  preacher  and  flung  out  a  few.  words  with  a  spirit  which 
the  crowd  recognized  as  being  in  accordance  with  the  Joan 
of  Arc  traditions — 

u  By  my  faith,  sir  !  I  make  bold  to  say  and  swear, 
on  pain  of  death,  that  he  is  the  most  noble  Christian  of 
all  Christians,  and  the  best  lover  of  the  faith  and  the 
Church  !" 

There  was  an  explosion  of  applause  from  the  crowd — which 
angered  the  preacher,  for  he  had  been  aching  long  to  hear  an 
expression  like  this,  and  now  that  it  was  come  at  last  it  had 
fallen  to  the  wrong  person  :  he  had  done  all  the  work ;  the 


431 


other  had  carried  off  all  the  spoil.  He  stamped  his  foot  and 
shouted  to  the  sheriff — 

"  Make  her  shut  up  !" 

That  made  the  crowd  laugh. 

A  mob  has  small  respect  for  a  grown  man  who  has  to  call 
on  a  sheriff  to  protect  him  from  a  sick  girl. 

Joan  had  damaged  the  preacher's  cause  more  with  one 
sentence  than  he  had  helped  it  with  a  hundred ;  so  he  was 
much  put  out,  and  had  trouble  to  get  a  good  start  again. 
But  he  needn't  have  bothered ;  there  was  no  occasion.  It 
was  mainly  an  English-feeling  mob.  It  had  but  obeyed  a 
law  of  our  nature — an  irresistible  law — to  enjoy  and  applaud 
a  spirited  and  promptly  delivered  retort,  no  matter  who  makes 
it.  The  mob  was  with  the  preacher ;  it  had  been  beguiled 
for  a  moment,  but  only  that ;  it  would  soon  return.  It  was 
there  to  see  this  girl  burnt ;  so  that  it  got  that  satisfaction — 
without  too  much  delay — it  would  be  content. 

Presently  the  preacher  formally  summoned  Joan  to  submit 
to  the  Church.  He  made  the  demand  with  confidence,  for 
he  had  gotten  the  idea  from  Loyseleur  and  Beaupere  that  she 
was  worn  to  the  bone,  exhausted,  and  would  not  be  able  to 
put  forth  any  more  resistance ;  and  indeed,  to  look  at  her  it 
seemed  that  they  must  be  right.  Nevertheless,  she  made  one 
more  effort  to  hold  her  ground,  and  said,  wearily— 

"  As  to  that  matter,  I  have  answered  my  judges  before.  I 
have  told  them  to  report  all  that  I  have  said  and  done  to  our 
holy  Father  the  Pope — to  whom,  and  to  God  first,  I  appeal." 

Again,  out  of  her  native  wisdom,  she  had  brought  those 
words  of  tremendous  import,  but  was  ignorant  of  their  value. 
But  they  could  have  availed  her  nothing  in  any  case,  now, 
•with  the  stake  there  and  these  thousands  of  enemies  about 
her.  Yet  they  made  every  churchman  there  blench,  and  the 
preacher  changed  the  subject  with  all  haste.  Well  might 
those  criminals  blench,  for  Joan's  appeal  of  her  case  to  the 
Pope  stripped  Cauchon  at  once  of  jurisdiction  over  it,  and 
annulled  all  that  he  and  his  judges  had  already  done  in  the 
matter  and  all  that  they  should  do  in  it  thenceforth. 


432 

Joan  went  on  presently  to  reiterate,  after  some  further  talk, 
that  she  had  acted  by  command  of  God  in  her  deeds  and  ut 
terances  ;  then,  when  an  attempt  was  made  to  implicate  the 
King,  and  friends  of  hers  and  his,  she  stopped  that.  She 
said — 

"  I  charge  my  deeds  and  words  upon  no  one,  neither  upon 
my  King  nor  any  other.  If  there  is  any  fault  in  them,  I  am 
responsible  and  no  other." 

She  was  asked  if  she  would  not  recant  those  of  her  words 
and  deeds  which  had  been  pronounced  evil  by  her  judges. 
Her  answer  made  confusion  and  damage  again  : 

"  I  submit  them  to  God  and  the  Pope." 

The  Pope  once  more  !  It  was  very  embarrassing.  Here 
was  a  person  who  was  asked  to  submit  her  case  to  the  Church, 
and  who  frankly  consents — offers  to  submit  it  to  the  very 
head  of  it.  What  more  could  any  one  require  ?  How  was 
one  to  answer  such  a  formidably  unanswerable  answer  as 
that? 

The  worried  judges  put  their  heads  together  and  whispered 
and  planned  and  discussed.  Then  they  brought  forth  this 
sufficiently  shambling  conclusion — but  it  was  the  best  they 
could  do,  in  so  close  a  place  :  they  said  the  Pope  was  so  far 
away  ;  and  it  was  not  necessary  to  go  to  him,  anyway,  because 
these  present  judges  had  sufficient  power  and  authority  to 
deal  with  the  present  case,  and  were  in  effect  "  the  Church  " 
to  that  extent.  At  another  time  they  could  have  smiled  at 
this  conceit,  but  not  now ;  they  were  not  comfortable  enough, 
now. 

The  mob  was  getting  impatient.  It  was  beginning  to  put 
on  a  threatening  aspect ;  it  was  tired  standing,  tired  of  the 
scorching  heat ;  and  the  thunder  was  coming  nearer,  the 
lightning  was  flashing  brighter.  It  was  necessary  to  hurry 
this  matter  to  a  close.  Erard  showed  Joan  a  written  form, 
which  had  been  prepared  and  made  all  ready  beforehand,  and 
asked  her  to  abjure. 

"  Abjure  ?     What  is  abjure  ?" 

She  did  not  know  the  word.     It  was  explained  to  her  by 


433 


Massieu.  She  tried  to  understand,  but  she  was  breaking, 
under  exhaustion,  and  she  could  not  gather  the  meaning.  It 
was  all  a  jumble  and  confusion  of  strange  words.  In  her  de 
spair  she  sent  out  this  beseeching  cry — 

"  I  appeal  to  the  Church  universal  whether  I  ought  to  ab 
jure  or  no !" 

Erard  exclaimed — 

"  You  shall  abjure  instantly,  or  instantly  be  burnt !" 

She  glanced  up,  at  those  awful  words,  and  for  the  first 
time  she  saw  the  stake  and  the  mass  of  red  coals  —  redder 
and  angrier  than  ever,  now,  under  the  constantly  deepening 
storm-gloom.  She  gasped  and  staggered  up  out  of  her  seat 
muttering  and  mumbling  incoherently,  and  gazed  vacantly 
upon  the  people  and  the  scene  about  her  like  one  who  is 
dazed,  or  thinks  he  dreams,  and  does  not  know  where  he  is. 

The  priests  crowded  about  her  imploring  her  to  sign  the 
paper,  there  were  many  voices  beseeching  and  urging  her  at 
once,  there  was  great  turmoil  and  shouting  and  excitement, 
amongst  the  populace  and  everywhere. 

"  Sign  !  sign  !"  from  the  priests  ;  "  sign — sign  and  be  saved  !" 
And  Loyseleur  was  urging  at  her  ear,  "  Do  as  I  told  you — do 
not  destroy  yourself !" 

Joan  said  plaintively  to  these  people — 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  do  well  to  seduce  me." 

The  judges  joined  their  voices  to  the  others.  Yes,  even 
the  iron  in  their  hearts  melted,  and  they  said — 

"  Oh,  Joan,  we  pity  you  so  !  Take  back  what  you  have 
said,  or  we  must  deliver  you  up  to  punishment." 

And  now  there  was  another  voice — it  was  from  the  other 
platform — pealing  solemnly  above  the  din  :  Cauchon's — read 
ing  the  sentence  of  death  ! 

Joan's  strength  was  all  spent.  She  stood  looking  about 
her  in  a  bewildered  way  a  moment,  then  slowly  she  sank  to 
her  knees,  and  bowed  her  head  and  said — 

"I  submit." 

They  gave  her  no  time  to  reconsider — they  knew  the  peril 

of  that.      The  moment  the  words  were    out  of  her  mouth 
28 


434 

Massieu  was  reading  to  her  the  abjuration,  and  she  was  re 
peating  the  words  after  him  mechanically,  unconsciously — 
and  smiling ;  for  her  wandering  mind  was  far  away  in  some 
happier  world. 

Then  this  short  paper  of  six  lines  was  slipped  aside  and  a 
long  one  of  many  pages  was  smuggled  into  its  place,  and  she, 
noting  nothing,  put  her  mark  to  it,  saying,  in  pathetic  apology, 
that  she  did  not  know  how  to  write.  But  a  secretary  of  the 
King  of  England  was  there  to  take  care  of  that  defect ;  he 
guided  her  hand  with  his  own,  and  wrote  her  name — Jehanne. 

The  great  crime  was  accomplished.  She  had  signed — 
what?  She  did  not  know — but  the  others  knew.  She  had 
signed  a  paper  confessing  herself  a  sorceress,  a  dealer  with 
devils,  a  liar,  a  blasphemer  of  God  and  His  angels,  a  lover  of 
blood,  a  promoter  of  sedition,  cruel,  wicked,  commissioned  of 
Satan  ;  and  this  signature  of  hers  bound  her  to  resume  the 
dress  of  a  woman.  There  were  other  promises,  but  that  one 
would  answer,  without  the  others ;  that  one  could  be  made  to 
destroy  her. 

Loyseleur  pressed  forward  and  praised  her  for  having  done 
"  such  a  good  day's  work." 

But  she  was  still  dreamy,  she  hardly  heard. 

Then  Cauchon  pronounced  the  words  which  dissolved  the 
excommunication  and  restored  her  to  her  beloved  Church, 
with  all  the  dear  privileges  of  worship.  Ah,  she  heard  that ! 
You  could  see  it  in  the  deep  gratitude  that  rose  in  her  face 
and  transfigured  it  with  joy. 

But  how  transient  was  that  happiness  !  For  Cauchon,  with 
out  a  tremor  of  pity  in  his  voice,  added  these  crushing 
words — 

"And  that  she  may  repent  of  her  crimes  and  repeat  them 
no  more,  she  is  sentenced  to  perpetual  imprisonment,  with  the 
bread  of  affliction  and  the  water  of  anguish !" 

Perpetual  imprisonment !  She  had  never  dreamed  of  that — 
such  a  thing  had  never  been  hinted  to  her  by  Loyseleur  or  by 
any  other.  Loyseleur  had  distinctly  said  and  promised  that 
"  all  would  be  well  with  her."  And  the  very  last  words  spoken 


JOAN    SIGNS   THE    LIST    OF    ACCUSATIONS 


435 


to  her  by  Erard,  on  that  very  platform,  when  he  was  urging 
her  to  abjure,  was  a  straight,  unqualified  promise— that  if  she 
would  do  it  she  should  go  free  from  captivity. 

She  stood  stunned  and  speechless  a  moment;  then  she  re 
membered,  with  such  solacement  as  the  thought  could  furnish, 
that  by  another  clear  promise — a  promise  made  by  Cauchon 
himself — she  would  at  least  be  the  Church's  captive,  and  have 
women  about  her  in  place  of  a  brutal  foreign  soldiery.  So 
she  turned  to  the  body  of  priests  and  said,  with  a  sad  resig 
nation — 

"  Now,  you  men  of  the  Church,  take  me  to  your  prison,  and 
leave  me  no  longer  in  the  hands  of  the  English";  and  she 
gathered  up  her  chains  and  prepared  to  move. 

But  alas,  now  came  these  shameful  words  from  Cauchon — 
and  with  them  a  mocking  laugh  : 

"Take  her  to  the  prison  whence  she  came  !" 

Poor  abused  girl !  She  stood  dumb,  smitten,  paralyzed.  It 
was  pitiful  to  see.  She  had  been  beguiled,  lied  to,  betrayed ; 
she  saw  it  all,  now. 

The  rumbling  of  a  drum  broke  upon  the  stillness,  and  for 
just  one  moment  she  thought  of  the  glorious  deliverance 
promised  by  her  Voices — I  read  it  in  the  rapture  that  lit  her 
face  ;  then  she  saw  what  it  was — her  prison  escort — and  that 
light  faded,  never  to  revive  again.  And  now  her  head  began 
a  piteous  rocking  motion,  swaying  slowly,  this  way  and  that, 
as  is  the  way  when  one  is  suffering  unwordable  pain,  or  when 
one's  heart  is  broken  ;  then  drearily  she  went  from  us,  with 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  sobbing  bitterly. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THERE  is  no  certainty  that  any  one  in  all  Rouen  was  in  the 
secret  of  the  deep  game  which  Cauchon  was  playing  except 
the  Cardinal  of  Winchester.  Then  you  can  imagine  the  as 
tonishment  and  stupefaction  of  that  vast  mob  gathered  there 
and  those  crowds  of  churchmen  assembled  on  the  two  plat 
forms,  when  they  saw  Joan  of  Arc  moving  away,  alive  and 
whole — slipping  out  of  their  grip  at  last,  after  all  this  tedious 
waiting,  all  this  tantalizing  expectancy. 

Nobody  was  able  to  stir  or  speak,  for  a  while,  so  paralyzing 
was  the  universal  astonishment,  so  unbelievable  the  fact  that 
the  stake  was  actually  standing  there  unoccupied  and  its  prey 
gone.  Then  suddenly  everybody  broke  into  a  fury  of  rage ; 
maledictions  and  charges  of  treachery  began  to  fly  freely ; 
yes,  and  even  stones  :  a  stone  came  near  killing  the  Cardinal 
of  Winchester — it  just  missed  his  head.  But  the  man  who 
threw  it  was  not  to  blame,  for  he  was  excited,  and  a  person 
who  is  excited  never  can  throw  straight. 

The  tumult  was  very  great  indeed,  for  a  while.  In  the 
midst  of  it  a  chaplain  of  the  Cardinal  even  forgot  the  propri 
eties  so  far  as  to  opprobriously  assail  the  august  Bishop  of 
Beauvais  himself,  shaking  his  fist  in  his  face  and  shouting : 

"  By  God,  you  are  a  traitor  !" 

"  You  lie  !"  responded  the  Bishop. 

He  a  traitor !  Oh,  far  from  it ;  he  certainly  was  the  last 
Frenchman  that  any  Briton  had  a  right  to  bring  that  charge 
against. 

The  Earl  of  Warwick  lost  his  temper,  too.  He  was  a 
doughty  soldier,  but  when  it  came  to  the  intellectuals — when 
it  came  to  delicate  chicane,  and  scheming,  and  trickery — he 


437 


couldn't  see  any  further  through  a  millstone  than  another. 
So  he  burst  out  in  his  frank  warrior  fashion,  and  swore  that 
the  King  of  England  was  being  treacherously  used,  and  that 
Joan  of  Arc  was  going  to  be  allowed  to  cheat  the  stake.  But 
they  whispered  comfort  into  his  ear — 

"  Give  yourself  no  uneasiness,  my  lord ;  we  shall  soon  have 
her  again." 

Perhaps  the  like  tidings  found  their  way  all  around,  for 
good  news  travels  fast  as  well  as  bad.  At  any  rate  the  rag- 
ings  presently  quieted  down,  and  the  huge  concourse  crumbled 
apart  and  disappeared.  And  thus  we  reached  the  noon  of 
that  fearful  Thursday. 

We  two  youths  were  happy ;  happier  than  any  words  can 
tell — for  we  were  not  in  the  secret  any  more  than  the  rest. 
Joan's  life  was  saved.  We  knew  that,  and  that  was  enough. 
France  would  hear  of  this  day's  infamous  work — and  then ! 
Why,  then  her  gallant  sons  would  flock  to  her  standard  by 
thousands  and  thousands,  multitudes  upon  multitudes,  and  their ' 
wrath  would  be  like  the  wrath  of  the  ocean  when  the  storm- 
winds  sweep  it ;  and  they  would  hurl  themselves  against  this 
doomed  city  and  overwhelm  it  like  the  resistless  tides  of  that 
ocean,  and  Joan  of  Arc  would  march  again !  In  six  days — 
seven  days — one  short  week — noble  France,  grateful  France, 
indignant  France,  would  be  thundering  at  these  gates — let  us 
count  the  hours,  let  us  count  the  minutes,  let  us  count  the  sec 
onds  !  Oh  happy  day,  oh  day  of  ecstasy,  how  our  hearts  sang 
in  our  bosoms ! 

For  we  were  young,  then  ;  yes,  we  were  very  young. 

Do  you  think  the  exhausted  prisoner  was  allowed  to  rest 
and  sleep  after  she  had  spent  the  small  remnant  of  her 
strength  in  dragging  her  tired  body  back  to  the  dungeon? 

No  ;  there  was  no  rest  for  her,  with  those  sleuth-hounds  on 
her  track.  Cauchon  and  some  of  his  people  followed  her  to  her 
lair,  straightway ;  they  found  her  dazed  and  dull,  her  mental 
and  physical  forces  in  a  state  of  prostration.  They  told  her 
she  had  abjured ;  that  she  had  made  certain  promises— 
among  them,  to  resume  the  apparel  of  her  sex ;  and  that  if 


438 

she  relapsed,  the  Church  would  cast  her  out  for  good  and  all. 
She  heard  the  words,  but  they  had  no  meaning  to  her.  She 
was  like  a  person  who  has  taken  a  narcotic  and  is  dying  for 
sleep,  dying  for  rest  from  nagging,  dying  to  be  let  alone,  and 
who  mechanically  does  everything  the  persecutor  asks,  taking 
but  dull  note  of  the  things  done,  and  but  dully  recording  them 
in  the  memory.  And  so  Joan  put  on  the  gown  which  Cau- 
chon  and  his  people  had  brought ;  and  would  come  to  herself 
by-and-by,  and  have  at  first  but  a  dim  idea  as  to  when  and 
how  the  change  had  come  about. 

Cauchon  went  away  happy  and  content.  Joan  had  resumed 
woman's  dress  without  protest ;  also  she  had  been  formally 
warned  against  relapsing.  He  had  witnesses  to  these  facts. 
How  could  matters  be  better  ? 

But  suppose  she  should  not  relapse  ? 

Why,  then  she  must  be  forced  to  do  it. 

Did  Cauchon  hint  to  the  English  guards  that  thenceforth  if 
they  chose  to  make  their  prisoner's  captivity  crueler  and  bit 
terer  than  ever,  no  official  notice  would  be  taken  of  it  ?  Per 
haps  so ;  since  the  guards  did  begin  that  policy  at  once,  and 
no  official  notice  was  taken  of  it.  Yes,  from  that  moment 
Joan's  life  in  that  dungeon  was  made  almost  unendurable.  Do 
not  ask  me  to  enlarge  upon  it.  I  will  not  do  it. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

FRIDAY  and  Saturday  were  happy  days  for  Noel  and  me. 
Our  minds  were  full  of  our  splendid  dream  of  France  aroused 
—France  shaking  her  mane — France  on  the  march — France 
at  the  gates — Rouen  in  ashes,  and  Joan  free  !  Our  imagina 
tion  was  on  fire ;  we  were  delirious  with  pride  and  joy.  For 
we  were  very  young,  as  I  have  said. 

We  knew  nothing  about  what  had  been  happening  in  the 
dungeon  the  yester-afternoon.  We  supposed  that  as  Joan 
had  abjured  and  been  taken  back  into  the  forgiving  bosom  of 
the  Church,  she  was  being  gently  used,  now,  and  her  captiv 
ity  made  as  pleasant  and  comfortable  for  her  as  the  circum 
stances  would  allow.  So,  in  high  contentment,  we  planned 
out  our  share  in  the  great  rescue,  and  fought  our  part  of  the 
fight  over  and  over  again  during  those  two  happy  days — as 
happy  days  as  ever  I  have  known. 

Sunday  morning  came.  I  was  awake,  enjoying  the  balmy, 
lazy  weather,  and  thinking.  Thinking  of  the  rescue — what 
else  ?  I  had  no  other  thought  now.  I  was  absorbed  in  that, 
drunk  with  the  happiness  of  it. 

I  heard  a  voice  shouting,  far  clown  the  street,  and  soon  it 
came  nearer,  and  I  caught  the  words — 

"Joan  of  Arc  has  relapsed 7     The  witch's  time  has  come  /" 

It  stopped  my  heart,  it  turned  my  blood  to  ice.  That  was 
more  than  sixty  years  ago,  but  that  triumphant  note  rings  as 
clear  in  my  memory  to-day  as  it  rang  in  my  ear  that  long-van 
ished  summer  morning.  We  are  so  strangely  made ;  the 
memories  that  could  make  us  happy  pass  away  ;  it  is  the 
memories  that  break  our  hearts  that  abide. 

Soon  other  voices  took  up  that  cry — tens,  scores,  hundreds 


440 


of  voices ;  all  the  world  seemed  filled  with  the  brutal  joy  of 
it.  And  there  were  other  clamors — the  clatter  of  rushing  feet, 
merry  congratulations,  bursts  of  coarse  laughter,  the  rolling 
of  drums,  the  boom  and  crash  of  distant  bands  profaning  the 
sacred  day  with  the  music  of  victory  and  thanksgiving. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  came  a  summons  for 
Manchon  and  me  to  go  to  Joan's  dungeon — a  summons  from 
Cauchon.  But  by  that  time  distrust  had  already  taken  pos 
session  of  the  English  and  their  soldiery  again,  and  all  Rouen 
was  in  an  angry  and  threatening  mood.  We  could  see  plenty 
evidences  of  this  from  our  own  windows — fist-shaking,  black 
looks,  tumultuous  tides  of  furious  men  billowing  by  along  the 
street. 

And  we  learned  that  up  at  the  castle  things  were  going 
very  badly  indeed ;  that  there  was  a  great  mob  gathered 
there  who  considered  the  relapse  a  lie  and  a  priestly  trick, 
and  among  them  many  half-drunk  English  soldiers.  More 
over,  these  people  had  gone  beyond  words.  They  had  laid 
hands  upon  a  number  of  churchmen  who  were  trying  to  enter 
the  castle,  and  it  had  been  difficult  work  to  rescue  them  and 
save  their  lives. 

And  so  Manchon  refused  to  go.  He  said  he  would  not  go 
a  step  without  a  safeguard  from  Warwick.  So  next  morning 
Warwick  sent  an  escort  of  soldiers,  and  then  we  went.  Mat 
ters  had  not  grown  peacefuler  meantime,  but  worse.  The 
soldiers  protected  us  from  bodily  damage,  but  as  we  passed 
through  the  great  mob  at  the  castle  we  were  assailed  with  in 
sults  and  shameful  epithets.  I  bore  it  well  enough,  though, 
and  said  to  myself,  with  secret  satisfaction,  "  In  three  or 
four  short  days,  my  lads,  you  will  be  employing  your  tongues 
in  a  different  sort  from  this  —  and  I  shall  be  there  to 
hear." 

To  my  mind  these  were  as  good  as  dead  men.  How  many 
of  them  would  still  be  alive  after  the  rescue  that  was  coming  ? 
Not  more  than  enough  to  amuse  the  executioner  a  short  half- 
hour,  certainly. 

It  turned  out  that  the  report  was  true.     Joan  had  relapsed. 


441 


She  was  sitting  there  in  her  chains,  clothed  again  in  her  male 
attire. 

She  accused  nobody.  That  was  her  way.  It  was  not  in 
her  character  to  hold  a  servant  to  account  for  what  his  master 
had  made  him  do,  and  her  mind  had  cleared,  now,  and  she 
knew  that  the  advantage  which  had  been  taken  of  her  the 
previous  morning  had  its  origin,  not  in  the  subordinate,  but 
in  the  master — Cauchon. 

Here  is  what  had  happened.  While  Joan  slept,  in  the  early 
morning  of  Sunday,  one  of  the  guards  stole  her  female  ap 
parel  and  put  her  male  attire  in  its  place.  When  she  woke 
she  asked  for  the  other  dress,  but  the  guards  refused  to  give 
•it  back.  She  protested,  and  said  she  was  forbidden  to  wear 
the  male  dress.  But  they  continued  to  refuse.  She  had  to 
have  clothing,  for  modesty's  sake  ;  moreover,  she  saw  that 
she  could  not  save  her  life  if  she  must  fight  for  it  against 
treacheries  like  this ,-  so  she  put  on  the  forbidden  garments, 
knowing  what  the  end  would  be.  She  was  weary  of  the 
struggle,  poor  thing. 

\Ve  had  followed  in  the  wake  of  Cauchon,  the  Vice-Inquisi 
tor,  and  the  others — six  or  eight — and  when  I  saw  Joan  sitting 
there,  despondent,  forlorn,  and  still  in  chains,  when  I  was  ex 
pecting  to  find  her  situation  so  different,  I  did  not  know  what 
to  make  of  it.  The  shock  was  very  great.  I  had  doubted 
the  relapse,  perhaps  j  possibly  I  had  believed  in  it,  but  had 
not  realized  it. 

Cauchon's  victory  was  complete.  He  had  had  a  harassed 
and  irritated  and  disgusted  look  for  a  long  time,  but  that  was 
all  gone  now,  and  contentment  and  serenity  had  taken  its 
place.  His  purple  face  was  full  of  tranquil  and  malicious 
happiness.  He  went  trailing  his  robes  and  stood  grandly  in 
front  of  Joan,  with  his  legs  apart,  and  remained  so  more  than 
a  minute,  gloating  over  her  and  enjoying  the  sight  of  this 
poor  ruined  creature,  who  had  won  so  lofty  a  place  for  him 
in  the  service  of  the  meek  and  merciful  Jesus,  Saviour  of  the 
World,  Lord  of  the  Universe  —  in  case  England  kept  her 
promise  to  him,  who  kept  no  promises  himself. 


442 

Presently  the  judges  began  to  question  Joan.  One  of  them, 
named  Marguerie,  who  was  a  man  with  more  insight  than 
prudence,  remarked  upon  Joan's  change  of  clothing,  and  said — 

"There  is  something  suspicious  about  this.  How  could  it 
have  come  about  without  connivance  on  the  part  of  others  ? 
Perhaps  even  something  worse  ?" 

"Thousand  devils!"  screamed  Cauchon,  in  a  fury.  "Will 
you  shut  your  mouth  ?" 

"  Armagnac  !  Traitor!"  shouted  the  soldiers  on  guard,  and 
made  a  rush  for  Marguerie  with  their  lances  levelled.  It  was 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  he  was  saved  from  being  run 
through  the  body.  He  made  no  more  attempts  to  help  the 
inquiry,  poor  man.  The  other  judges  proceeded  with  the  ques 
tionings. 

"Why  have  you  resumed  this  male  habit?" 

I  did  not  quite  catch  her  answer,  for  just  then  a  soldier's 
halberd  slipped  from  his  fingers  and  fell  on  the  stone  floor 
with  a  crash  5  but  I  thought  I  understood  Joan  to  say  that  she 
had  resumed  it  of  her  own  motion. 

"But  you  have  promised  and  sworn  that  you  would  not  go 
back  to  it." 

I  was  full  of  anxiety  to  hear  her  answer  to  that  question  ; 
and  when  it  came  it  was  just  what  I  was  expecting.  She  said 
— quite  quietly — 

"  I  have  never  intended  and  never  understood  myself  to 
swear  I  would  not  resume  it." 

There — I  had  been  sure,  all  along,  that  she  did  not  know 
what  she  was  doing  and  saying  on  the  platform  Thursday, 
and  this  answer  of  hers  was  proof  that  I  had  not  been  mis 
taken.  Then  she  went  on  to  add  this — 

"  But  I  had  a  right  to  resume  it,  because  the  promises 
made  to  me  have  not  been  kept — promises  that  I  should  be 
allowed  to  go  to  mass,  and  receive  the  communion,  and  that  I 
should  be  freed  from  the  bondage  of  these  chains — but  they 
are  still  upon  me,  as  you  see." 

"  Nevertheless,  you  have  abjured,  and  have  especially  prom 
ised  to  return  no  more  to  the  dress  of  a  man." 


443 

Then  Joan  held  out  her  fettered  hands  sorrowfully  toward 
these  unfeeling  men  and  said — 

"  I  would  rather  die  than  continue  so.  But  if  they  may  be 
taken  off,  and  if  I  may  hear  mass,  and  be  removed  to  a  peni 
tential  prison,  and  have  a  woman  about  me,  I  will  be  good,  and 
will  do  what  shall  seem  good  to  you  that  I  do." 

Cauchon  sniffed  scoffingly  at  that.  Honor  the  compact 
which  he  and  his  had  made  with  her  ?  Fulfil  its  conditions  ? 
What  need  of  that  ?  Conditions  had  been  a  good  thing  to 
concede,  temporarily,  and  for  advantage;  but  they  had  served 
their  turn — let  something  of  a  fresher  sort  and  of  more  conse 
quence  be  considered.  The  resumption  of  the  male  dress  was 
sufficient  for  all  practical  purposes,  but  perhaps  Joan  could 
be  led  to  add  something  to  that  fatal  crime.  So  Cauchon 
asked  her  if  her  Voices  had  spoken  to  her  since  Thursday— 
and  he  reminded  her  of  her  abjuration. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  -,  and  then  it  came  out  that  the  Voices 
had  talked  with  her  about  the  abjuration — told  her  about  it,  I 
suppose.  She  guilelessly  reasserted  the  heavenly  origin  of  her 
mission,  and  did  it  with  the  untroubled  mien  of  one  who  was 
not  conscious  that  she  had  ever  knowingly  repudiated  it.  So 
I  was  convinced  once  more  that  she  had  had  no  notion  of 
what  she  was  doing  that  Thursday  morning  on  the  platform. 
Finally  she  said,  "  My  Voices  told  me  I  did  very  wrong  to  con 
fess  that  what  I  had  done  was  not  well."  Then  she  sighed, 
and  said  with  simplicity,  "  But  it  was  the  fear  of  the  fire  that 
made  me  do  so." 

That  is,  fear  of  the  fire  had  made  her  sign  a  paper  whose 
contents  she  had  not  understood  then,  but  understood  now  by 
revelation  of  her  Voices  and  by  testimony  of  her  persecutors. 

She  was  sane  now,  and  not  exhausted ;  her  courage  had 
come  back,  and  with  it  her  inborn  loyalty  to  the  truth.  She 
was  bravely  and  serenely  speaking  it  again,  knowing  that  it 
would  deliver  her  body  up  to  that  very  fire  which  had  such 
terrors  for  her. 

That  answer  of  hers  was  quite  long,  quite  frank,  wholly  free 
from  concealments  or  palliations.  It  made  me  shudder;  I 


444 

knew  she  was  pronouncing  sentence  of  death  upon  herself. 
So  did  poor  Manchon.  And  he  wrote  in  the  margin  abreast 
of  it— 

RESPONSIO  MORTIFERA. 

Fatal  answer.  Yes,  all  present  knew  that  it  was  indeed  a 
fatal  answer.  Then  there  fell  a  silence  such  as  falls  in  a  sick 
room  when  the  watchers  by  the  dying  draw  a  deep  breath  and 
say  softly  one  to  another,  "  All  is  over." 

Here,  likewise,  all  was  over-,  but  after  some  moments  Cau- 
chon,  wishing  to  clinch  this  matter  and  make  it  final,  put  this 
question — 

"  Do  you  still  believe  that  your  Voices  are  St.  Marguerite 
and  St.  Catherine  ?" 

"  Yes — and  that  they  come  from  God." 

"  Yet  you  denied  them  on  the  scaffold  ?" 

Then  she  made  direct  and  clear  affirmation  that  she  had 
never  had  any  intention  to  deny  them ;  and  that  if — I  noted 
the  if— "  if  she  had  made  some  retractions  and  revocations 
on  the  scaffold  it  was  from  fear  of  the  fire,  and  was  a  violation 
of  the  truth." 

There  it  is  again,  you  see.  She  certainly  never  knew  what 
it  was  she  had  done  on  the  scaffold  until  she  was  told  of  it 
afterwards  by  these  people  and  by  her  Voices. 

And  now  she  closed  this  most  painful  scene  with  these 
words;  and  there  was  a  weary  note  in  them  that  was  pa 
thetic— 

"  I  would  rather  do  my  penance  all  at  once ;  let  me  die. 
I  cannot  endure  captivity  any  longer." 

The  spirit  born  for  sunshine  and  liberty  so  longed  for  re 
lease  that  it  would  take  it  in  any  form,  even  that. 

Several  among  the  company  of  judges  went  from  the  place 
troubled  and  sorrowful,  the  others  in  another  mood.  In  the 
court  of  the  castle  we  found  the  Earl  of  Warwick  and  fifty 
English  waiting,  impatient  for  news.  As  soon  as  Cauchon 
saw  them  he  shouted — laughing — think  of  a  man  destroying 
a  friendless  poor  girl  and  then  having  the  heart  to  laugh  at  it : 

"Make  yourselves  comfortable — it's  all  over  with  her!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  young  can  sink  into  abysses  of  despondency,  and  it 
was  so  with  Noel  and  me,  now ;  but  the  hopes  of  the  young 
are  quick  to  rise  again,  and  it  was  so  with  ours.  We  called 
back  that  vague  promise  of  the  Voices,  and  said  the  one  to  the 
other  that  the  glorious  release  was  to  happen  at  "the  last  mo 
ment  " — "  that  other  time  was  not  the  last  moment,  but  this  is  ; 
it  will  happen  now  ;  the  King  will  come,  La  Hire  will  come, 
and  with  them  our  veterans,  and  behind  them  all  France  !" 
And  so  we  were  full  of  heart  again,  and  could  already  hear, 
in  fancy,  that  stirring  music  the  clash  of  steel  and  the  war- 
cries  and  the  uproar  of  the  onset,  and  in  fancy  see  our  pris 
oner  free,  her  chains  gone,  her  sword  in  her  hand. 

But  this  dream  was  to  pass  also,  and  come  to  nothing. 
Late  at  night,  when  Manchon  came  in,  he  said — 

"  I  am  come  from  the  dungeon,  and  I  have  a  message  for 
you  from  that  poor  child." 

A  message  to  me  !  If  he  had  been  noticing  I  think  he 
would  have  discovered  me — discovered  that  my  indifference 
concerning  the  prisoner  was  a  pretence ;  for  I  was  caught  off 
my  guard,  and  was  so  moved  and  so  exalted  to  be  so  honored 
by  her  that  I  must  have  shown  my  feeling  in  my  face  and 
manner. 

"A  message  for  me,  your  reverence?" 

"  Yes.  It  is  something  she  wishes  done.  She  said  she  had 
noticed  the  young  man  who  helps  me,  and  that  he  had  a  good 
face-  and  did  I  think  he  would  do  a  kindness  for  her  ?  I  said 
I  knew  you  would,  and  asked  her  what  it  was,  and  she  said  a 
letter — would  you  write  a  letter  to  her  mother  ?  And  I  said 
you  would.  But  I  said  I  would  do  it  myself,  and  gladly;  but 


446 


she  said  no,  that  my  labors  were  heavy,  and  she  thought  the 
young  man  would  not  mind  the  doing  of  this  service  for  one 
not  able  to  do  it  for  herself,  she  not  knowing  how  to  write. 
Then  I  would  have  sent  for  you,  and  at  that  the  sadness  van 
ished  out  of  her  face.  Why,  it  was  as  if  she  was  going  to 
see  a  friend,  poor  friendless  thing.  But  I  was  not  permitted. 
I  did  my  best,  but  the  orders  remain  as  strict  as  ever,  the 
doors  are  closed  against  all  but  officials ;  as  before,  none  but 
officials  may  speak  to  her.  So  I  went  back  and  told  her,  and 
she  sighed,  and  was  sad  again.  Now  this  is  what  she  begs 
you  to  write  to  her  mother.  It  is  partly  a  strange  message, 
and  to  me  means  nothing,  but  she  said  her  mother  would 
understand.  You  will  *  convey  her  adoring  love  to  her  fam 
ily  and  her  village  friends,  and  say  there  will  be  no  rescue, 
for  that  this  night — and  it  is  the  third  time  in  the  twelve 
month,  and  is  final — she  has  seen  The  Vision  of  the  Tree.'  " 

"  How  strange  !" 

"  Yes,  it  is  strange,  but  that  is  what  she  said  ;  and  said  her 
parents  would  understand.  And  for  a  little  time  she  was  lost 
in  dreams  and  thinkings,  and  her  lips  moved,  and  I  caught 
in  her  mutterings  these  lines,  which  she  said  over  two  or  three 
times,  and  they  seemed  to  bring  peace  and  contentment  to 
her.  I  set  them  down,  thinking  they  might  have  some  con 
nection  with  her  letter  and  be  useful;  but  it  was  not  so-,  they 
were  a  mere  memory,  floating  idly  in  a  tired  mind,  and  they 
have  no  meaning,  at  least  no  relevancy." 

I  took  the  piece  of  paper,  and  found  what  I  knew  I  should 
find: 

"And  when  in  exile  wand'ring  we 
Shall  fainting  yearn  for  glimpse  of  thee, 
O  rise  upon  our  sight !" 

There  was  no  hope  any  more.  I  knew  it  now.  I  knew 
that  Joan's  letter  was  a  message  to  Noel  and  me,  as  well  as 
to  her  family,  and  that  its  object  was  to  banish  vain  hopes 
from  our  minds  and  tell  us  from  her  own  mouth  of  the  blow 
that  was  going  to  fall  upon  us,  so  that  we,  being  her  soldiers, 


CAUCHON    ACCUSES   JOAN    OF   VIOLATING    HER    OATH 


447 

would  know  it  for  a  command  to  bear  it  as  became  us  and 
her,  and  so  submit  to  the  will  of  God  ;  and  in  thus  obeying, 
find  assuagement  of  our  grief.  It  was  like  her,  for  she  was 
always  thinking  of  others,  not  of  herself.  Yes,  her  heart  was 
sore  for  us  ;  she  could  find  time  to  think  of  us,  the  humblest 
of  her  servants,  and  try  to  soften  our  pain,  lighten  the  burden 
of  our  troubles, — she  that  was  drinking  of  the  bitter  waters  ; 
she  that  was  walking  in  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death. 

I  wrote  the  letter.  You  will  know  what  it  cost  me,  without 
my  telling  you.  I  wrote  it  with  the  same  wooden  stylus  which 
had  put  upon  parchment  the  first  words  ever  dictated  by  Joan 
of  Arc — that  high  summons  to  the  English  to  vacate  France, 
two  years  past,  when  she  was  a  lass  of  seventeen  ;  it  had  now 
set  down  the  last  ones  which  she  was  ever  to  dictate.  Then 
I  broke  it.  For  the  pen  that  had  served  Joan  of  Arc  could 
not  serve  any  that  would  come  after  her  in  this  earth  without 
abasement. 

The  next  day,  May  2Qth,  Cauchon  summoned  his  serfs,  and 
forty-two  responded.  It  is  charitable  to  believe  that  the 
other  twenty  were  ashamed  to  come.  The  forty- two  pro 
nounced  her  a  relapsed  heretic,  and  condemned  her  to  be 
delivered  over  to  the  secular  arm.  Cauchon  thanked  them. 
Then  he  sent  orders  that  Joan  be  conveyed  the  next  morn 
ing  to  the  place  known  as  the  Old  Market,  and  that  she  be 
then  delivered  to  the  civil  judge,  and  by  the  civil  judge  to  the 
executioner.  That  meant  that  she  would  be  burnt. 

All  the  afternoon  and  evening  of  Tuesday  the  29th  the 
news  was  flying,  and  the  people  of  the  country-side  flocking 
to  Rouen  to  see  the  tragedy — all,  at  least,  who  could  prove 
their  English  sympathies  and  count  upon  admission.  The 
press  grew  thicker  and  thicker  in  the  streets,  the  excitement 
grew  higher  and  higher.  And  now  a  thing  was  noticeable 
ao-ain  which  had  been  noticeable  more  than  once  before — 

& 

that  there  was  pity  for  Joan  in  the  hearts  of  many  of  these 
people.  Whenever  she  had  been  in  great  danger  it  had  mani 
fested  itself,  and  now  it  was  apparent  again — manifest  in  a 
pathetic  dumb  sorrow  which  was  visible  in  many  faces. 


448 


Early  the  next  morning,  Wednesday,  Martin  Ladvenu  and 
another  friar  were  sent  to  Joan  to  prepare  her  for  death ;  and 
Manchon  and  I  went  with  them — a  hard  service  for  me.  We 
tramped  through  the  dim  corridors,  winding  this  way  and  that, 
and  piercing  ever  deeper  and  deeper  into  that  vast  heart  of 
stone,  and  at  last  we  stood  before  Joan.  But  she  did  not 
know  it.  She  sat  with  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  her  head 
bowed,  thinking,  and  her  face  was  very  sad.  One  might  not 
know  what  she  was  thinking  of.  Of  her  home,  and  the  peace 
ful  pastures,  and  the  friends  she  was  no  more  to  see  ?  Of  her 
wrongs,  and  her  forsaken  estate,  and  the  cruelties  which  had 
been  put  upon  her?  Or  was  it  of  death — the  death  which 
she  had  longed  for,  and  which  was  now  so  close  ?  Or  was  it 
of  the  kind  of  death  she  must  suffer  ?  I  hoped  not ;  for  she 
feared  only  one  kind,  and  that  one  had  for  her  unspeakable 
terrors.  I  believed  she  so  feared  that  one  that  with  her  strong 
will  she  would  shut  the  thought  of  it  wholly  out  of  her  mind,  and 
hope  and  believe  that  God  would  take  pity  on  her  and  grant 
her  an  easier  one  ;  and  so  it  might  chance  that  the  awful  news 
which  we  were  bringing  might  come  as  a  surprise  to  her,  at  last. 

We  stood  silent  awhile,  but  she  was  still  unconscious  of 
us,  still  deep  in  her  sad  musings  and  far  away.  Then  Martin 
Ladvenu  said,  softly — 

"Joan." 

She  looked  up  then,  with  a  little  start,  and  a  wan  smile,  and 
said — 

"  Speak.     Have  you  a  message  for  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  poor  child.  Try  to  bear  it.  Do  you  think  you 
can  bear  it  ?" 

"  Yes  " — very  softly,  and  her  head  drooped  again. 

"  I  am  come  to  prepare  you  for  death." 

A  faint  shiver  trembled  through  her  wasted  body.  There 
was  a  pause.  In  the  stillness  we  could  hear  our  breathings. 
Then  she  said,  still  in  that  low  voice — 

"When  will  it  be  ?" 

The  muffled  notes  of  a  tolling  bell  floated  to  our  ears  out 
of  the  distance. 


449 


"  Now.     The  time  is  at  hand." 

That  slight  shiver  passed  again. 

"  It  is  so  soon — ah,  it  is  so  soon  !" 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  distant  throbbings  of  the 
bell  pulsed  through  it,  and  we  stood  motionless  and  listening. 
But  it  was  broken  at  last — 

"  What  death  is  it  ?" 

"  By  fire !" 

"Oh,  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it !"  She  sprang  wildly  to  her  feet, 
and  wound  her  hands  in  her  hair,  and  began  to  writhe  and 
sob,  oh,  so  piteously,  and  mourn  and  grieve  and  lament,  and 
turn  to  first  one  and  then  another  of  us,  and  search  our  faces 
beseechingly,  as  hoping  she  might  find  help  and  friendliness 
there,  poor  thing— she  that  had  never  denied  these  to  any 
creature,  even  her  wounded  enemy  on  the  battle-field. 

"  Oh,  cruel,  cruel,  to  treat  me  so !  And  must  my  body, 
that  has  never  been  defiled,  be  consumed  to-day  and  turned 
to  ashes  ?  Ah,  sooner  would  I  that  my  head  were  cut  off 
seven  times  than  suffer  this  woful  death.  I  had  the  promise 
of  the  Church's  prison  when  I  submitted,  and  if  I  had  but 
been  there,  and  not  left  here  in  the  hands  of  my  enemies,  this 
miserable  fate  had  not  befallen  me.  Oh,  I  appeal  to  God  the 
Great  Judge,  against  the  injustice  which  has  been  done  me." 

There  was  none  there  that  could  endure  it.  They  turned 
away,  with  the  tears  running  down  their  faces.  In  a  moment 
I  was  on  my  knees  at  her  feet.  At  once  she  thought  only  of 
my  danger,  and  bent  and  whispered  in  my  ear  :  "  Up  ! — do  not 
peril  yourself,  good  heart.  There — God  bless  you  always  !" 
and  I  felt  the  quick  clasp  of  her  hand.  Mine  was  the  last 
hand  she  touched  with  hers  in  life.  None  saw  it ;  history 
does  not  know  of  it  or  tell  of  it,  yet  it  is  true,  just  as  I  have 
told  it.  The  next  moment  she  saw  Cauchon  coming,  and  she 
went  and  stood  before  him  and  reproached  him,  saying— 

"  Bishop,  it  is  by  you  that  I  die  !" 

He  was  not  shamed,  not  touched  :  but  said,  smoothly — . 

"Ah,  be  patient,  Joan.     You  die   because  you  have  not 
kept  your  promise,  but  have  returned  to  your  sins." 
29 


450 

"Alas,"  she  said,  "if  you  had  put  me  in  the  Church's 
prison,  and  given  me  right  and  proper  keepers,  as  you  prom 
ised,  this  would  not  have  happened.  And  for  this  I  summon 
you  to  answer  before  God  !" 

Then  Cauchon  winced,  and  looked  less  placidly  content 
than  before,  and  he  turned  him  about  and  went  away. 

Joan  stood  awhile  musing.  She  grew  calmer,  but  occasion 
ally  she  wiped  her  eyes,  and  now  and  then  sobs  shook  her 
body ;  but  their  violence  was  modifying  now,  and  the  intervals 
between  them  were  growing  longer.  Finally  she  looked  up  and 
saw  Pierre  Maurice,  who  had  come  in  with  the  Bishop,  and 
she  said  to  him — 

"  Master  Peter,  where  shall  I  be  this  night  ?" 

"  Have  you  not  good  hope  in  God  ?" 

"Yes — and  by  His  grace  I  shall  be  in  Paradise." 

Now  Martin  Ladvenu  heard  her  in  confession ;  then  she 
begged  for  the  sacrament.  But  how  grant  the  communion  to 
one  who  had  been  publicly  cut  off  from  the  Church,  and  was 
now  no  more  entitled  to  its  privileges  than  an  unbaptized 
pagan  ?  The  brother  could  not  do  this,  but  he  sent  to 
Cauchon  to  inquire  what  he  must  do.  All  laws,  human  and 
divine,  were  alike  to  that  man — he  respected  none  of  them. 
He  sent  back  orders  to  grant  Joan  whatever  she  wished.  Her 
last  speech  to  him  had  reached  his  fears,  perhaps  :  it  could 
not  reach  his  heart,  for  he  had  none. 

The  Eucharist  was  brought  now  to  that  poor  soul  that  had 
yearned  for  it  with  such  unutterable  longing  all  these  desolate 
months.  It  was  a  solemn  moment.  While  we  had  been  in  the 
deeps  of  the  prison,  the  public  courts  of  the  castle  had  been 
filling  up  with  crowds  of  the  humbler  sort  of  men  and  women, 
who  had  learned  what  was  going  on  in  Joan's  cell,  and  had 
come  with  softened  hearts  to  do  —  they  knew  not  what;  to 
hear — they  knew  not  what.  We  knew  nothing  of  this,  for  they 
were  out  of  our  view.  And  there  were  other  great  crowds  of 
the  like  caste  gathered  in  masses  outside  the  castle  gates. 
And  when  the  lights  and  the  other  accompaniments  of  the 
Sacrament  passed  by,  coming  to  Joan  in  the  prison,  all  those 


multitudes  kneeled  down  and  began  to  pray  for  her,  and  many 
wept ;  and  when  the  solemn  ceremony  of  the  communion 
began  in  Joan's  cell,  out  of  the  distance  a  moving  sound  was 
borne  moaning  to  our  ears — it  was  those  invisible  multitudes 
chanting  the  litany  for  a  departing  soul. 

The  fear  of  the  fiery  death  was  gone  from  Joan  of  Arc  now, 
to  come  again  no  more,  except  for  one  fleeting  instant — then 
it  would  pass,  and  serenity  and  courage  would  take  its  place 
and  abide  till  the  end. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

AT  nine  o'clock  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  Deliverer  of  France, 
went  forth  in  the  grace  of  her  innocence  and  her  youth  to  lay 
down  her  life  for  the  country  she  loved  with  such  devotion, 
and  for  the  King  that  had  abandoned  her.  She  sat  in  the 
cart  that  is  used  only  for  felons.  In  one  respect  she  was 
treated  worse  than  a  felon;  for  whereas  she  was  on  her  way  to 
be  sentenced  by  the  civil  arm,  she  already  bore  her  judgment 
inscribed  in  advance  upon  a  mitre -shaped  cap  which  she 
wore: 

HERETIC,   RELAPSED,   APOSTATE,   IDOLATER. 

In  the  cart  with  her  sat  the  friar  Martin  Ladvenu  and 
Maitre  Jean  Massieu.  She  looked  girlishly  fair  and  sweet 
and  saintly  in  her  long  white  robe,  and  when  a  gush  of  sun 
light  flooded  her  as  she  emerged  from  the  gloom  of  the 
prison  and  was  yet  for  a  moment  still  framed  in  the  arch  of 
the  sombre  gate,  the  massed  multitudes  of  poor  folk  mur 
mured  "A  vision!  a  vision!"  and  sank  to  their  knees  pray 
ing,  and  many  of  the  women  weeping ;  and  the  moving  in 
vocation  for  the  dying  rose  again,  and  was  taken  up  and 
borne  along,  a  majestic  wave  of  sound,  which  accompanied 
the  doomed,  solacing  and  blessing  her,  all  the  sorrowful  way 
to  the  place  of  death.  "  Christ  have  pity  !  Saint  Margaret 
have  pity  !  Pray  for  her,  all  ye  saints,  archangels,  and  blessed 
martyrs,  pray  for  her  !  Saints  and  angels  intercede  for  her  ! 
From  thy  wrath,  good  Lord,  deliver  her !  O  Lord  God,  save 
her  !  Have  mercy  on  her,  we  beseech  Thee,  good  Lord  !"  % 

It  is  just  and  true,  what  one  of  the  histories  has  said  : 


453 


"  The  poor  and  the  helpless  had  nothing  but  their  prayers  to 
give  Joan  of  Arc  ;  but  these  we  may  believe  were  not  unavail 
ing.  There  are  few  more  pathetic  events  recorded  in  history 
than  this  weeping,  helpless,  praying  crowd,  holding  their  light 
ed  candles  and  kneeling  on  the  pavement  beneath  the  pris.on 
walls  of  the  old  fortress." 

And  it  was  so  all  the  way :  thousands  upon  thousands 
massed  upon  their  knees  and  stretching  far  down  the  dis 
tances,  thick-sown  with  the  faint  yellow  candle-flames,  like  a 
field  starred  with  golden  flowers. 

But  there  were  some  that  did  not  kneel ;  these  were  the 
English  soldiers.  They  stood  elbow  to  elbow,  on  each  side 
of  Joan's  road,  and  walled  it  in,  all  the  way;  and  behind  these 
living  walls  knelt  the  multitudes. 

By-and-by  a  frantic  man  in  priest's  garb  came  wailing  and 
lamenting,  and  tore  through  the  crowd  and  the  barrier  of  sol 
diers  and  flung  himself  on  his  knees  by  Joan's  cart  and  put 
up  his  hands  in  supplication,  crying  out — 

"  O,  forgive,  forgive  !" 

It  was  Loyseleur ! 

And  Joan  forgave  him ;  forgave  him  out  of  a  heart  that 
knew  nothing  but  forgiveness,  nothing  but  compassion,  noth 
ing  but  pity  for  all  that  suffer,  let  their  offence  be  what  it 
might.  And  she  had  no  word  of  reproach  for  this  poor 
wretch  who  had  wrought  day  and  night  with  deceits  and 
treacheries  and  hypocrisies  to  betray  her  to  her  death. 

The  soldiers  would  have  killed  him,  but  the  Earl  of  War 
wick  saved  his  life.  What  became  of  him  is  not  known.  He 
hid  himself  from  the  world  somewhere,  to  endure  his  remorse 
as  he  might. 

In  the  square  of  the  Old  Market  stood  the  two  platforms 
and  the  stake  that  had  stood  before  in  the  church-yard  of  St. 
Ouen.  The  platforms  were  occupied  as  before,  the  one  by 
Joan  and  her  judges,  the  other  by  great  dignitaries,  the  prin 
cipal  being  Cauchon  and  the  English  Cardinal — Winchester. 
The  square  was  packed  with  .people,  the  windows  and  roofs 
of  the  blocks  of  buildings  surrounding  it  were  black  with  them. 


454 

When  the  preparations  had  been  finished,  all  noise  and 
movement  gradually  ceased,  and  a  waiting  stillness  followed 
which  was  solemn  and  impressive. 

And  now,  by  order  of  Cauchon,  an  ecclesiastic  named  Nicho 
las  Midi  preached  a  sermon,  wherein  he  explained  that  when 
a  branch  of  the  vine — which  is  the  Church — becomes  diseased 
and  corrupt,  it  must  be  cut  away  or  it  will  corrupt  and  destroy 
the  whole  vine.  He  made  it  appear  that  Joan,  through  her 
wickedness,  was  a  menace  and  a  peril  to  the  Church's  purity 
and  holiness,  and  her  death  therefore  necessary.  When  he 
was  come  to  the  end  of  his  discourse  he  turned  toward  her 
and  paused  a  moment,  then  he  said — 

"  Joan,  the  Church  can  no  longer  protect  you.  Go  in 
peace  !" 

Joan  had  been  placed  wholly  apart  and  conspicuous,  to  sig 
nify  the  Church's  abandonment  of  her,  and  she  sat  there  in 
her  loneliness,  waiting  in  patience  and  resignation  for  the  end. 
Cauchon  addressed  her  now.  He  had  been  advised  to  read 
the  form  of  her  abjuration  to  her,  and  had  brought  it  with 
him ;  but  he  changed  his  mind,  fearing  that  she  would  pro 
claim  the  truth — that  she  had  never  knowingly  abjured — and 
so  bring  shame  upon  him  and  eternal  infamy.  He  contented 
himself  with  admonishing  her  to  keep  in  mind  her  wicked 
nesses,  and  repent  of  them,  and  think  of  her  salvation.  Then 
he  solemnly  pronounced  her  excommunicate  and  cut  off  from 
the  body  of  the  Church.  With  a  final  word  he  delivered  her 
over  to  the  secular  arm  for  judgment  and  sentence. 

Joan,  weeping,  knelt  and  began  to  pray.  For  whom  ?  Her 
self  ?  Oh  no — for  the  King  of  France.  Her  voice  rose  sweet 
and  clear,  and  penetrated  all  hearts  with  its  passionate  pathos. 
She  never  thought  of  his  treacheries  to  her,  she  never  thought 
of  his  desertion  of  her,  she  never  remembered  that  it  was  be 
cause  he  was  an  ingrate  that  she  was  here  to  die  a  miserable 
death ;  she  remembered  only  that  he  was  her  King,  that  she 
was  his  loyal  and  loving  subject,  and  that  his  enemies  had  un 
dermined  his  cause  with  evil  reports  and  false  charges,  and  he 
not  by  to  defend  himself.  And  so,  in  the  very  presence  of 


455 

death,  she  forgot  her  own  troubles  to  implore  all  in  her  hear 
ing  to  be  just  to  him ;  to  believe  that  he  was  good  and  noble 
and  sincere,  and  not  in  any  way  to  blame  for  any  acts  of  hers, 
neither  advising  them  nor  urging  them,  but  being  wholly  clear 
and  free  of  all  responsibility  for  them.  Then,  closing,  she 
begged  in  humble  and  touching  words  that  all  here  present 
would  pray  for  her  and  would  pardon  her,  both  her  enemies 
and  such  as  might  look  friendly  upon  her  and  feel  pity  for  her 
in  their  hearts. 

There  was  hardly  one  heart  there  that  was  not  touched — 
even  the  English,  even  the  judges  showed  it,  and  there  was 
many  a  lip  that  trembled  and  many  an  eye  that  was  blurred 
with  tears  ;  yes,  even  the  English  Cardinal's — that  man  with 
a  political  heart  of  stone  but  a  human  heart  of  flesh. 

The  secular  judge  who  should  have  delivered  judgment  and 
pronounced  sentence  was 'himself  so  disturbed  that  he  forgot 
his  duty,  and  Joan  went  to  her  death  unsentenced — thus  com 
pleting  with  an  illegality  what  had  begun  illegally  and  had  so 
continued  to  the  end.  He  only  said — to  the  guards — 

"Take  her";  and  to  the  executioner,  "  Do  your  duty." 

Joan  asked  for  a  cross.  None  was  able  to  furnish  one. 
But  an  English  soldier  broke  a  stick  in  two  and  crossed  the 
pieces  and  tied  them  together,  and  this  cross  he  gave  her, 
moved  to  it  by  the  good  heart  that  was  in  him ;  and  she 
kissed  it  and  put  it  in  her  bosom.  Then  Isambard  de  la 
Pierre  went  to  the  church  near  by  and  brought  her  a  conse 
crated  one ;  and  this  one  also  she  kissed,  and  pressed  it  to 
her  bosom  with  rapture,  and  then  kissed  it  again  and  again, 
covering  it  with  tears  and  pouring  out  her  gratitude  to  God  and 
the  saints. 

And  so,  weeping,  and  with  her  cross  to  her  lips,  she  climbed 
up  the  cruel  steps  to  the  face  of  the  stake,  with  the  friar  Isam 
bard  at  her  side.  Then  she  was  helped  up  to  the  top  of  the 
pile  of  wood  that  was  built  around  the  lower  third  of  the  stake, 
and  stood  upon  it  with  her  back  against  the  stake,  and  the 
world  gazing  up  at  her  breathless.  The  executioner  ascended 
to  her  side  and  wound  chains  about  her  slender  body,  and  so 


456 


fastened  her  to  the  stake.  Then  he  descended  to  finish  his 
dreadful  office ;  and  there  she  remained  alone — she  that  had 
had  so  many  friends  in  the  days  when  she  was  free,  and  had 
been  so  loved  and  so  dear. 

All  these  things  I  saw,  albeit  dimly  and  blurred  with  tears ; 
but  I  could  bear  no  more.  I  continued  in  my  place,  but 
what  I  shall  deliver  to  you  now  I  got  by  others'  eyes  and 
others'  mouths.  Tragic  sounds  there  were  that  pierced  my 
ears  and  wounded  my  heart  as  I  sat  there,  but  it  is  as  I  tell 
you  :  the  latest  image  recorded  by  my  eyes  in  that  desolating 
hour  was  Joan  of  Arc  with  the  grace  of  her  comely  youth 
still  unmarred ;  and  that  image,  untouched  by  time  or  decay, 
has  remained  with  me  all  my  days.  Now  I  will  go  on. 

If  any  thought  that  now,  in  that  solemn  hour  when  all  trans 
gressors  repent  and  confess,  she  would  revoke  her  revocation 
and  say  her  great  deeds  had  been  evil  deeds  and  Satan  and 
his  fiends  their  source,  they  erred.  No  such  thought  was  in 
her  blameless  mind.  She  was  not  thinking  of  herself  and 
her  troubles,  but  of  others,  and  of  woes  that  might  befall 
them.  And  so,  turning  her  grieving  eyes  about  her,  where 
rose  the  towers  and  spires  of  that  fair  city,  she  said — 

"Oh,  Rouen,  Rouen,  must  I  die  here,  and  must  you  be  my 
tomb  ?  Ah,  Rouen,  Rouen,  I  have  great  fear  that  you  will 
suffer  for  my  death." 

A  whiff  of  smoke  swept  upward  past  her  face,  and  for  one 
moment  terror  seized  her  and  she  cried  out,  "  Water  !  Give 
me  holy  water !"  but  the  next  moment  her  fears  were  gone, 
and  they  came  no  more  to  torture  her. 

She  heard  the  flames  crackling  below  her,  and  immediately 
distress  for  a  fellow-creature  who  was  in  danger  took  pos 
session  of  her.  It  was  the  friar  Isambard.  She  had  given 
him  her  cross  and  begged  him  to  raise  it  toward  her  face  and 
let  her  eyes  rest  in  hope  and  consolation  upon  it  till  she  was 
entered  into  the  peace  of  God.  She  made  him  go  out  from 
the  danger  of  the  fire.  Then  she  was  satisfied,  and  said — 

"  Now  keep  it  always  in  my  sight  until  the  end." 

Not  even  yet  could  Cauchon,  that  man  without  shame,  en- 


THE    MARTYRDOM    OF   THE   MAID    OF   ORLEANS 


457 

dure  to  let  her  die  in  peace,  but  went  toward  her,  all  black 
with  crimes  and  sins  as  he  was,  and  cried  out — 

"  I  am  come,  Joan,  to  exhort  you  for  the  last  time  to  repent 
and  seek  the  pardon  of  God." 

"  I  die  through  you,"  she  said,  and  these  were  the  last 
words  she  spoke  to  any  upon  earth. 

Then  the  pitchy  smoke,  shot  through  with  red  flashes  of 
flame,  rolled  up  in  a  thick  volume  and  hid  her  from  sight; 
and  from  the  heart  of  this  darkness  her  voice  rose  strong  and 
eloquent  in  prayer,  and  when  by  moments  the  wind  shredded 
somewhat  of  the  smoke  aside,  there  were  veiled  glimpses  of 
an  upturned  face  and  moving  lips.  At  last  a  mercifully  swift 
tide  of  flame  burst  upward,  and  none  saw  that  face  any  more 
nor  that  form,  and  the  voice  was  still. 

Yes,  she  was  gone  from  us :  JOAN  OF  ARC  !  What  little 
words  they  are,  to  tell  of  a  rich  world  made  empty  and  poor ! 


CONCLUSION 

JOAN'S  brother  Jacques  died  in  Domremy  during  the  Great 
Trial  at  Rouen.  This  was  according  to  the  prophecy  which 
Joan  made  that  day  in  the  pastures  the  time  that  she  said 
the  rest  of  us  would  go  to  the  great  wars. 

When  her  poor  old  father  heard  of  the  martyrdom  it  broke 
his  heart  and  he  died. 

The  mother  was  granted  a  pension  by  the  City  of  Orleans, 
and  upon  this  she  lived  out  her  days,  which  were  many. 
Twenty-four  years  after  her  illustrious  child's  death  she  trav 
elled  all  the  way  to  Paris  in  the  winter  time  and  was  present 
at  the  opening  of  the  discussion  in  the  Cathedral  of  Notre 
Dame  which  was  the  first  step  in  the  Rehabilitation.  Paris 
was  crowded  with  people,  from  all  about  France,  who  came 
to  get  sight  of  the  venerable  dame,  and  it  was  a  touching 
spectacle  when  she  moved  through  these  reverend  wet-eyed 
multitudes  on  her  way  to  the  grand  honors  awaiting  her  at 
the  cathedral.  With  her  were  Jean  and  Pierre,  no  longer 
the  light-hearted  youths  who  marched  with  us  from  Vaucou- 
leurs,  but  war-worn  veterans  with  hair  beginning  to  show 
frost. 

After  the  martyrdom  Noel  and  I  went  back  to  Domremy, 
but  presently  when  the  Constable  Richemont  superseded  La 
Tremouille  as  the  King's  chief  adviser  and  began  the  com 
pletion  of  Joan's  great  work,  we  put  on  our  harness  and  re 
turned  to  the  field  and  fought  for  the  King  all  through  the 
wars  and  skirmishes  until  France  was  freed  of  the  English. 
It  was  what  Joan  would  have  desired  of  us  ;  and,  dead  or 
alive,  her  desire  was  law  for  us.  All  the  survivors  of  the  per 
sonal  staff  were  faithful  to  her  memory  and  fought  for  the 


459 

King  to  the  end.  Mainly  we  were  well  scattered,  but  when 
Paris  fell  we  happened  to  be  together.  It  was  a  great  day 
and  a  joyous ;  but  it  was  a  sad  one  at  the  same  time,  because 
Joan  was  not  there  to  march  into  the  captured  capital  with  us. 

Noel  and  I  remained  always  together,  and  I  was  by  his 
side  when  death  claimed  him.  It  was  in  the  last  great  battle 
of  the  war.  In  that  battle  fell  also  Joan's  sturdy  old  enemy, 
Talbot.  He  was  eighty-five  years  old,  and  had  spent  his  whole 
life  in  battle.  A  fine  old  lion  he  was,  with  his  flowing  white 
mane  and  his  tameless  spirit;  yes,  and  his  indestructible  en 
ergy  as  well ;  for  he  fought  as  knightly  and  vigorous  a  fight 
that  day  as  the  best  man  there. 

La  Hire  survived  the  martyrdom  thirteen  years ;  and  al 
ways  fighting,  of  course,  for  that  was  all  he  enjoyed  in  life.  I 
did  not  see  him  in  all  that  time,  for  we  were  far  apart,  but  one 
was  always  hearing  of  him. 

The  Bastard  of  Orleans  and  D'Alen^on  and  D'Aulon  lived 
to  see  France  free,  and  to  testify  with  Jean  and  Pierre  d'Arc 
and  Pasquerel  and  me  at  the  Rehabilitation.  But  they  are  all 
at  rest  now,  these  many  years.  I  alone  am  left  of  those  who 
fought  at  the  side  of  Joan  of  Arc  in  the  great  wars.  She  said 
I  would  live  until  these  wars  were  forgotten — a  prophecy  which 
failed.  If  I  should  live  a  thousand  years  it  would  still  fail. 
For  whatsoever  had  touch  with  Joan  of  Arc,  that  thing  is  im 
mortal. 

Members  of  Joan's  family  married,  and  they  have  left  de 
scendants.  Their  descendants  are  of  the  nobility,  but  their 
family  name  and  blood  bring  them  honors  which  no  other 
nobles  receive  or  may  hope  for.  You  have  seen  how  every 
body  along  the  way  uncovered  when  those  children  came  yes 
terday  to  pay  their  duty  to  me.  It  was  not  because  they  are 
noble,  it  is  because  they  are  grandchildren  of  the  brothers  of 
Joan  of  Arc. 

Now  as  to  the  Rehabilitation.  Joan  crowned  the  King  at 
Rheims.  For  reward  he  allowed  her  to  be  hunted  to  her 
death  without  making  one  effort  to  save  her.  During  the  next 
twenty-three  years  he  remained  indifferent  to  her  memory  ;  in- 


460 

different  to  the  fact  that  her  good  name  was  under  a  damning 
blot  put  there  by  the  priests  because  of  the  deeds  which  she 
had  done  in  saving  him  and  his  sceptre ;  indifferent  to  the 
fact  that  France  was  ashamed,  and  longed  to  have  the  Deliv 
erer's  fair  fame  restored.  Indifferent  all  that  time.  Then  he 
suddenly  changed  and  was  anxious  to  have  justice  for  poor 
Joan,  himself.  Why  ?  Had  he  become  grateful  at  last  ?  Had 
remorse  attacked  his  hard  heart  ?  No,  he  had  a  better  rea 
son — a  better  one  for  his  sort  of  man.  This  better  reason 
was  that,  now  that  the  English  had  been  finally  expelled  from 
the  country,  they  were  beginning  to  call  attention  to  the  fact 
that  this  King  had  gotten  his  crown  by  the  hands  of  a  person 
proven  by  the  priests  to  have  been  in  league  with  Satan  and 
burnt  for  it  by  them  as  a  sorceress — therefore,  of  what  value 
or  authority  was  such  a  Kingship  as  that  ?  Of  no  value  at  all ; 
no  nation  could  afford  to  allow  such  a  king  to  remain  on  the 
throne. 

It  was  high  time  to  stir,  now,  and  the  King  did  it.  That  is 
how  Charles  VII.  came  to  be  smitten  with  anxiety  to  have 
justice  done  the  memory  of  his  benefactress. 

He  appealed  to  the  Pope,  and  the  Pope  appointed  a  great 
commission  of  churchmen  to  examine  into  the  facts  of  Joan's 
life  and  award  judgment.  The  Commission  sat  at  Paris,  at 
Domremy,  at  Rouen,  at  Orleans,  and  at  several  other  places, 
and  continued  its  work  during  several  months.  It  examined 
the  records  of  Joan's  trials,  it  examined  the  Bastard  of  Or 
leans,  and  the  Duke  d'Alengon,  and  D'Aulon,  and  Pasquerel, 
and  Courcelles,  and  Isambard  de  la  Pierre,  and  Manchon,  and 
me,  and  many  others  whose  names  I  have  made  familiar  to 
you;  also  they  examined  more  than  a  hundred  witnesses 
whose  names  are  less  familiar  to  you — friends  of  Joan  in 
Domremy,  Vaucouleurs,  Orleans,  and  other  places,  and  a  num 
ber  of  judges  and  other  people  who  had  assisted  at  the  Rouen 
trials,  the  abjuration,  and  the  martyrdom.  And  out  of  this 
exhaustive  examination  Joan's  character  and  history  came 
spotless  and  perfect,  and  this  verdict  was  placed  upon  record, 
to  remain  forever. 


46i 

I  was  present  upon  most  of  these  occasions,  and  saw  again 
many  faces  which  I  have  not  seen  for  a  quarter  of  a  century; 
among  them  some  well-beloved  faces — those  of  our  generals 
and  that  of  Catherine  Boucher  (married,  alas !),  and  also  among 
them  certain  other  faces  that  filled  me  with  bitterness — those 
of  Beaupere  and  Courcelles  and  a  number  of  their  fellow- 
fiends.  I  saw  Haumette  and  Little  Mengette— edging  along 
toward  fifty,  now,  and  mothers  of  many  children.  I  saw 
Noel's  father,  and  the  parents  of  the  Paladin  and  the  Sun 
flower. 

It  was  beautiful  to  hear  the  Duke  d'Alengon  praise  Joan's 
splendid  capacities  as  a  general,  and  to  hear  the  Bastard  in 
dorse  these  praises  with  his  eloquent  tongue  and  then  go  on 
and  tell  how  sweet  and  good  Joan  was,  and  how  full  of  pluck 
and  fire  and  impetuosity,  and  mischief,  and  mirthfulness,  and 
tenderness,  and  compassion,  and  everything  that  was  pure 
and  fine  and  noble  and  lovely.  He  made  her  live  again  be 
fore  me,  and  wrung  my  heart. 

I  have  finished  my  story  of  Joan  of  Arc,  that  wonderful 
child,  that  sublime  personality,  that  spirit  which  in  one  re 
gard  has  had  no  peer  and  will  have  none — this  :  its  purity 
from  all  alloy  of  self-seeking,  self-interest,  personal  ambition. 
In  it  no  trace  of  these  motives  can  be  found,  search  as  you 
may,  and  this  cannot  be  said  of  any  other  person  whose  name 
appears  in  profane  history. 

With  Joan  of  Arc  love  of  country  was  more  than  a  senti 
ment — it  was  a  passion.  She  was  the  Genius  of  Patriotism — 
she  was  Patriotism  embodied,  concreted,  made  flesh,  and  pal 
pable  to  the  touch  and  visible  to  the  eye. 

Love,  Mercy,  Charity,  Fortitude,  War,  Peace,  Poetry,  Mu 
sic — these  may  be  symbolized  as  any  shall  prefer :  by  figures 
of  either  sex  and  of  any  age  ;  but  a  slender  girl  in  her  first 
young  bloom,  with  the  martyr's  crown  upon  her  head,  and  in 
her  hand  the  sword  that  severed  her  country's  bonds — shall 
not  this,  and  no  other,  stand  for  PATRIOTISM  through  all  the 
ages  until  time  shall  end  ? 


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